The Gate
by b does the write thing
Summary: Reporter Lacey French goes undercover to learn more about the odd disappearances around the small town of Storybrooke and finds herself transported into a world of fairy tales and monsters. As she fights to get home, she learns sometimes it's not always just the monster who needs to change. AU Rumbelle
1. Chapter 1

When Lacey French woke up late one October morning, she had no idea her life was about to change. She had simply overslept per usual and was trying as best she could to make it to work on time.

However, the universe was not cooperating. She tore her pantyhose getting out of her car and then missed the elevator, forcing her to take the stairs to avoid another tardy write up. She had been so out of breath upon her arrival on the tenth floor she had barely managed to wheeze a greeting to the receptionist before she ducked into the bathroom to peel off the ruined hosiery.

She had been able to put her things down at her desk, start her computer and sneak over to the kitchen to grab a cup of the black sludge they passed off as coffee without anyone bothering her.

As she finally sat down to her computer, she raised the Styrofoam cup to her lips, carefully blowing to avoid scalding her mouth when- "There you are!" boomed over her shoulder.

At the sudden and unexpected incursion in her personal space, Lacey involuntarily jumped in her seat. She attempted to hide the kneejerk reaction which caused her to overcorrect, sending a river of molten coffee cascading into her lap.

"For God's sake!" she yelped, already grabbing for the paper towels she kept in her lower desk drawer. Without the black tights underneath, the black skirt she had worn today was absurdly thin. The coffee was already dampening her thighs, the hot liquid burning unpleasantly on her unprotected skin.

"My bad, Lace," drawled the intruder, not bothering to hide the amusement coloring his tone. "Did I-"

"If you make a joke about getting me wet, Gaston, I'm going to throw something at you," she hissed over her shoulder, patting the liquid out of her skirt as best she could.

True to form, the handsome men's health writer just leaned casually against the wall of her desk, watching her frantic efforts with a smirk on his rugged face. She ignored him, twisting her body away.

"I wouldn't dream of it," he replied. Picking up the roll, he tore off another sheet and handed it to her with an arched brow. She glared at him but grudgingly accepted it, tossing her current wadded mess of towels in the trash can next to her. "But you were looking particularly alluring this morning. I must say bare legs in late October is a bold movie, Lacey, my girl."

"Drop dead, Gaston," she mumbled, giving up on the attempt to save her skirt. She had been grateful she had decided to shave yesterday despite the cold weather but now she was regretting her vain decision to wear her tight skirt instead of her usual slacks. "Run along, go bother the interns or something."

He laughed in response, flipping out his phone and starting to talk about his latest article, something about rock climbing and testosterone. His smooth voice grew monotonous as he droned on, reading her snippets from the online publication, oblivious to her disinterest.

Everyone knew Jack Gaston was considered the catch of the office- hell, she had heard of random girls on the street following him into the building like stray cats in heat.

With his jet black hair swept back with a perfect curl on his forehead, Jack's dark brown eyes with long lashes were devastatingly alluring. Add his pouty lips that were always pulled back in a rogue's smile and his lantern jaw, he was almost impossible to resist even though it was common knowledge he had slept with half the women at the city paper where they worked. It had been noted that most of his conquests tended to be more productive post coital than the weeks they spent trying to get his attention. So, management usually looked the other way.

Lacey had thought Gaston dashing for all of two minutes- then he had opened his mouth on how beautiful women shouldn't be working but at home raising children and she had filed him firmly in the "misogynist asshole" column and avoided him.

Unfortunately, Gaston seemed to like the challenge. He became her very own personal shadow in the office, showing up at her desk throughout the day, asking her out to dinner, bringing her pastries from the cart downstairs and the constant flirtatious commentary which she had tried reporting to Human Resources, only to find half the department was part of his devout fan club and the other half were men who viewed his attention as "complimentary" or "harmless".

She twisted her chair around, fixing him with a glare as she asked, "You ruin my morning for a reason or are you just being your usual chauvinistic self?"

"I may have been asked to deliver a message for you," he admitted, moving to seat himself more firmly on her desk top. She rolled her chair back a few feet away from him, crossing her arms and glaring.

"And that would be?"

He grinned, his perfect white teeth gleaming in the fluorescent lighting of the office. She pointedly looked away, returning her attention to her computer and the emails dinging in.

"Reese was looking for you." He shrugged, leaning down. "I covered for you being late, told him you were running a story down to the editing department for me."

"Wait-what?"

If Reese was looking for her, it meant-

She leaped for her notepad, tugging her skirt down as she stood. The coffee stain was still vivid on her skirt and she rubbed at it ineffectively.

"You are just-"she muttered through clenched teeth, trying to get around him and out her cube.

"Charming? Quick thinking? Your very own knight in shining armor?" He supplied, following her out.

"Unbelievable," she corrected, pulling her damp skirt away from her thighs as best she could. "I've been asking Reese for weeks to cover a story, and the first time he calls me to his office, you tell him I'm doing research for you? Great, thanks a lot, Jack."

You're welcome," he replied, oblivious to her ire. Luckily for them both, he stopped short at the kitchen area where a new intern was bending over to clean out the dishwasher, her skirt riding up unintentionally. "Lunch? Italian?" He called out absently, already running a hand through his hair as he eyed his new target.

"Never going to happen, Gaston," she shot over her shoulder, turning the corner.

After a quick stride down the main hallway, she arrived at the large closed door at the end of the hall. She paused, glancing down at her rumpled blouse and stained skirt. She grimaced, knocking neatly on the door before entering.

Sitting with his back to the large windows which framed his desk, an older man was bent, pouring over column print outs, holding up today's paper in one hand and comparing it to the one on his desk. The light streaming in the window behind him made his white hair glow in a translucent aura, giving him a hazy halo.

Mo Reese was the editor, owner and overall spiritual leader of the _Looking Glass_. He had started the paper as a young man and had lived to see it grow into a major paper of the city. His tendency to lean towards investigative reporting over the growing syndicated columns had made it popular in the city but over the past couple years, slow news cycles and larger syndications had thinned out the paper's once prestigious numbers.

His only syndication was the cartoon page which he claimed he kept in for the kids.

He glanced up. When he saw Lacey, he returned his attention to the columns, waving a hand at her to come in.

"Gaston told me you were helping him on a project, I figured he was either lying or you were desperate enough for a story that'd you'd do anything."

"You wanted to see me?" She asked, avoiding the question. She carefully held her pad in front of the large coffee stain on her skirt. He pointed her towards the chair in front of him without looking up.

She took the seat, careful to cross her legs discreetly, balancing the pad on top of the stain. It was freezing in Reese's office and she felt goose pimples start to rise along her legs.

Fighting the urge to fidget, she waited patiently as he continued reading. After a moment or two of uncomfortable silence, she started to doodle in the margins of her notepad, trying not to concentrate on how uncomfortable cold coffee was on one's skin.

Finally, Reese looked up. He blinked at her for a moment as if he had forgotten she was there before he cleared his throat.

"Ah, yes. French," She nodded, forcing herself to fix a firm smile on her face at the older man.  
"You've been here for about five years now, is that right?"

She straightened her shoulders, sitting up a little more straight in her seat. "Yes, sir. In four months, it will be five years."

"Uh huh," he agreed, absently, checking a piece of paper as he continued. "And you started as an intern, worked in sales for a bit before moving over to work for the personal pages?"

"And then was promoted to the research desk, I work mainly with politics-"

"Yea, Heinz speaks highly of you over there. Told me you've been ghostwriting Stegall's columns since he's been out on sick leave."

"Yes, Sam approved the first few pieces –"

"Well written, paced and free of any liberal. Good pieces- but I've been reading them for three weeks and I didn't realize they weren't Stegall's."

She nodded warily, keeping her eyes locked straight ahead. Her pulse was starting to pick up speed and her hands were locked in balls in her lap. Reese was hard to read in most situations, in a private meeting like this, it was impossible to tell where it was going.

"Yes, well that was the idea…" she replied tersely, readjusting her legs and leaning forward slightly. She hadn't worked with Reese directly before but she was aware in most cases, a little décolletage worked to her advantage.

Reese waved his hand, seemingly oblivious to her now slightly gaping chemise, "Yes, well, I asked around. You've been writing for other reporters in a few other departments, and I didn't notice those either. You're a very talented chameleon, French. But I don't know if copying someone's writing style qualifies you for an actual writing desk."

She nodded, swallowing the angry words that rose to her tongue. Taking a moment to digest the comment, she ducked her head in what she hoped appeared to be coy embarrassment as she tried to figure out a response. To her surprise, Reese continued on regardless.

"But I've got a story that just came in and I need someone who isn't a fixture here- someone I can send on assignment and trust not to lose their head, resent the assignment or lose perspective and if you want it as badly as everyone seems to think you do- I figured you'd be a good choice."

"An assignment?" Lacey exclaimed, dropping the useless seduction tactic as she stood in excitement. "You're sending me on an actual assignment? Of course I'll go! When do I start? Is it for the opinions desk or-"

Reese interrupted her, "French, you have a lunch meeting with Greg Mendell at noon today, he'll fill you in."

She felt her excitement drain away as fast as it had appeared.

"The conspiracy nut from the TV series?_ Vanished_ or something equally banal?" Lacey asked, failing to hide the skepticism in her tone.

"The very one," Reese agreed, leaning back in his chair. It was a comical sight since he was short and round, his appetite for food being only second to his hunger for a story. "Mendell's been pushing a lead on a story, and it rang some bells in our research department. There's some town called Storybrooke- seems a few missing people over the years, couple unexplained homicides- feds have tried to get involved since the sixties but no luck. Small town, tight community- no outsiders have been able to get more than a few words from even the law enforcers over there."

"And you want me to…what exactly?" She asked, crossing her arms.

"Meet with this "nut", see what he has to say, sniff out if there's a story there like I think there is."

"If you don't mind me asking," Lacey edged, uncertainty coloring her tone. "What makes you think that the guy from _Vanished_ has a credible story if he's not using it for his own syndication or book rights?"

"Because," Reese said, fixing her with his sharp blue eyes. "He wants someone to do what he can't do as a national television celebrity."

Lacey waited, biting the inside of her cheek in irritation and trying to reassure herself this could be a good opportunity and not just a fool's errand. "And what's that, sir?"

"Go undercover and find out why people keep disappearing from Storybrooke."

Three hours later, Lacey found herself sitting at a table at the Gas Light Café waiting on Greg Mendell. She had gone home to change out of her ruined skirt and was now dressed in a cream suit and jacket with her dark hair pulled back in a high ponytail. Her notepad and pen lay discreetly next to her, waiting for her source to arrive.

She picked up her water glass, trying to quell the growing irritation. Her first real assignment. And it happened to be with a guy who was considered a national nut job; a very famous nut job, sure, but a nut job regardless.

A little past noon, a commotion by the door caused her to shift slightly in her seat. A man walked in, taking off his sunglasses and talking to the hostess while a few light bulbs went off outside the main door. Lacey watched the exchange, recognizing the closely shaved head and watery blue eyes as Greg Mendell, host of _Vanished_.

The hostess pointed him towards Lacey, who stood to greet him. He thanked the hostess, checked behind his shoulder once more before making his way to Lacey, reaching out to take her hand.

"You must be Ms. French?" He greeted, firmly gripping her hand in his. She smiled, greeting him and offering him the seat across from her. She watched his eyes flash down to her chest and she grinned back at him, eyes twinkling in challenge. He smiled wickedly back and she inwardly cheered. It was ridiculous how easy it was to get men to open up with the right approach.

"Picked a spot in the back with high booth partitions and away from the windows," he noticed, ordering an unsweet tea from the waitress. "Smart."

She shrugged, her chest pushing out as her shoulders fell. He glanced down again, missing the slight roll of her eyes. After some small talk about their respective backgrounds, they ordered lunch before settling down to discuss the story.

"So, you've seen the show?" He asked, picking up a piece of bread and smearing it with butter. She nodded, picking up her pen.

"Seen the pilot episode?" He asked, taking a large bite, butter smearing his chin.

"Actually, no," she responded, trying to avoid staring at the grease spot. "But that's probably because it was aired on a local channel in Maine and the original recording was lost in a fire they had a few months later. You know, if it wasn't for your third episode finding the supposedly lost housewife from New Jersey living happily as a man in Vermont, you probably would never have been picked up for syndication by the cable network at all."

He grinned at her, a sly smirk but it now held a hint of respect. "Okay, so you did your homework."

"What does the pilot episode have to do with your story, Mr. Mendell?" she asked, noting he had an absent minded habit of tapping the table with his fingers before he spoke.

"Well, it's actually the story of my father's disappearance," he shared. Lacey nodded, unsurprised. Most people with interest in the unknown had a trauma or mystery in their past.

"Can you share that story with me?" She asked with a smile, trying not to think about how good the bread looked as he went in for another slice. She kept her focus on him, reminding herself that she wouldn't be able to fit in her skirts if she ate too much bread every time she dined out.

"For you?" He asked with a wink," I'd be happy to. I was about six; we went camping in the woods as an early Christmas present. It wasn't too long after my mom had passed and Dad didn't know how to hold a proper Christmas for a kid. So, he took me camping. We ended up a few miles out of a town- Storybrooke. We had missed the campsite somehow and Dad just decided to set up out in the woods instead of driving another couple hours back to the interstate."

She nodded, writing in shorthand the salient details.

"Well, short story- that night, I woke up to find Dad talking to some woman outside of our tent, a kind of park ranger I assumed so I just went back to sleep. When I woke up in the morning, Dad was gone. Naturally, being six, I didn't realize I should be scared or worried; I just ate all the chocolate we had left over from our s'mores the night before. When I started to get bored, I decided to go looking for him."

"In the woods? Or along the road?" She asked, looking up from her notepad.

"In the woods- I followed a trail I found nearby, just wandered along calling out for my dad for a few miles," he grinned ruefully. "I remember being freezing and being mad at him for playing around, I didn't think to be scared until I realized I was lost. Got off the trail somehow and into the middle of the woods."

"Did you find a park ranger?" Lacey asked, trying to place the self-assured man in front of her with a scared kid lost in the woods.

"No, those woods are basically empty. The only thing I found was- well it's odd what you remember but I found this odd, large ruin of a gate. I just leaned up against the column, freezing cold and hungry, lost and scared, calling for my dad."

"That's odd, isn't it?" She interrupted, looking up from her notepad. Greg raised his eyebrows at her in silent question at her interruption. But it was the first interesting thing about his story to Lacey- an odd detail in a mostly straightforward story. "Was the gate connected to a house?" Greg shook his head in the negative, looking slightly put out at her interruption.

"Just two big brick columns with an iron wrought gate between them- I just remember it- the first place that looked like civilization."

"But that's a bit weird, right?" She thought out loud, glancing down at her notes. "Just a locked gate in the middle of that huge forest?"

"Actually, to a kid it didn't seem weird. I walked around it in circles for a bit before I got hungry and decided to go back to the campground, but I couldn't find it again. Then, I tried to head back towards the gate but I couldn't find it either. I just managed to luck out and find the interstate, followed the flashing lights I occasionally saw and some folks coming back to Storybrooke from the city found me, middle of the night, blue fingers and red streaks on my face from crying."

"You shared that last part with your viewers?" Lacey teased, dropping the gate. While it interested her, he didn't seem to think about it much more than a random memory marker.

"No, but you're cute and I was hoping it would make you feel bad for me." He confessed laughing, waving his hands in surrender. She smiled invitingly in return, re-crossing her legs under the table, letting one brush against his pant leg. He eyed her across the table, leaning in closer as she pressed on.

"And then what? I'm guessing your father stayed missing which drove you to start a TV show about vanishing people- people with closure rarely keep going with their obsession."

"You're sharp, Lacey," he replied, nodding in approval. His attention was fixed on her, his male ego having been expertly stroked by her attentions he continued on, "I told Reese I needed someone fresh and wanting to prove themselves but I didn't realize I was going to get an actual real life journalist…"

Lacey avoided rolling her eyes, smiling warmly before confessing, "He seems to think there's some kind of story here, a possible deeper one than a boy's father going missing."

"There is," Greg enthused. The waitress brought out their plates, Greg's steak, bloody and rare and Lacey's salad.

Salads and interviews didn't go well, she had found out on her previous research assignments. But she knew Greg's type and a girl who ordered a burger and fries wasn't going to get him bragging or oversharing too easily. While Greg poured steak sauce on his plate, she waited for him to continue, toying with her fork.

"So, I got placed with a family out west of Storybrooke, nice folks, older. They didn't really approve of my fascination with disappearances, but I read all the books on aliens, mobs, anything to do with unknown conspiracy theories- I devoured it."

Lacey nodded along, letting him continue talking about his formative years, college stories about his fraternity, his dropping out and his working odd jobs in his early twenties, "And then when my adoptive parents passed, I was left with a decent nest egg- which I put into starting my show, and the rest's history."

"All that in the quest to find your father?" Lacey asked, her salad pushed around and wilting. Greg had had no such qualms and had aggressively devoured his steak and fries. He was leaning back, picking his teeth with a toothpick, comfortable and relaxed.

"My father is dead," he replied without hesitation. "I knew that when I got old enough to understand people's behaviors. Most of the people we find were unhappy, unfulfilled or with nothing to live for. They leave to start over or to protect someone. My father was a young single father with a good job who had promised his dying wife to take care of their son. He didn't leave me willingly, not out there in the wilderness in the middle of the night."

"And you are sure you heard him talking to someone?" Lacey asked, going back to her earlier notes.

"I was six but yea- I remember. There was definitely a woman's voice but I didn't see anyone outside the tent but my father's shadow. Whoever she was, she wasn't standing close enough to the fire for me to see her. And why would a woman be out in the woods alone at the end of December?"

"Park ranger?" Lacey asked, spearing a carrot and raising it to her mouth. He watched her as she popped it in her mouth, eyes focused on her lips as she slid the fork out slowly.

"It's not a national park, just wilderness on the border of Canada. The locals that picked me up and the Sheriff of Storybrooke mentioned there being a lot of bears and wolves sightings in those woods- locals don't even go too far into them- too many disappearances over the years."

"Have there been any since your father's disappearance thirty years ago?"

"Not any that have been officially reported- but I'm sure if I had gone missing with my father, no one would have linked our disappearance to that area. We weren't even supposed to be around there. But there is one interesting thing I noticed in my few talks with Storybrooke's sheriff."

"Which is?" Lacey encouraged him, waving away the waitress who had just brought her a refill.

"That every single disappearance has been around the same time in December, around the Winter Solstice."

"Which is what you must have told Reese to get him to agree to investigate it," Lacey pieced together. Greg nodded, looking smug.

"Something is happening up in those woods, Lacey," He locked her with his eyes, the famous intensity of his gaze stronger in person than on TV. "Do you want to help find out what it is?"

She took a long drink, flicking her eyes to her notepad full of question marks and arrows. A story like this could either make a career or ruin it, following a journalist around their whole life as the crackpot story that was the biggest joke in publishing or the biggest cold case solved in recent history.

And yet, something in her was reacting to the story, just like Reese had. It was entirely possible this man's story of his lost father was just the tip of a much bigger iceberg.

She looked back up at him, slipping the check off the table, eyes burning in challenge. "Well, Greg, how do we begin?"

By the time she had made it back to her office, Lacey had four phone calls from Greg's business partner, Tamara. She had requested all of _Vanished_'s files and records for Storybrooke as well as any important information or possible leads they had been following to be delivered to her before the end of day. Tamara had agreed, ironing out final details before calling and confirming everything had been delivered.

It was just past seven when Lacey returned from her errands, going up the elevator to her floor; she finally felt the adrenaline ebb away, leaving her a tired knotted mess.

When the doors slide open with a chirp, she took a deep breath before exiting. She turned the usual corners to her space; stopping short when she realized her desk was completely empty.

Her laptop was missing; personal mementos stuffed in a cardboard box on her chair, and her notes and Tamara's files nowhere to be found.

Stepping out into the aisle, she glanced around, noting her fellow researcher's desks where exactly as they had left them before they left for the night. Only hers looked like it had been cleaned out. She was in the process of trying to think who she should call when she heard footsteps.

Reese turned the corner, carrying his briefcase, nose buried in the tablet he typically used to check the _Looking Glass_'s online articles before they were published.

"Mr. Reese," she called out, hurrying towards him. "My desk-"

"French?" He remarked, glancing up at her in disbelief. "How did you get up here?" He asked, grabbing her elbow and hauling her towards the elevator. "You can't be here!"

"But my desk-"

"I'll have someone store your personal effects for the time. Didn't Jacobs contact you?"

"Melody Jacobs? From Human Resources?" Lacey stumbled into the elevator after him, watching him jab the button down furiously. "I don't understand I-"

"You are on an undercover assignment, starting the second you agreed to meet with Mendell. Hasn't anyone been in contact to explain undercover protocol to you?"

She shook her head furiously, angrily fingering her satchel where her notes from that afternoon and her few cold calls to potential contacts were packed.

"Did you mean Melody Jacobs?" She repeated, moving to stand in front of him. The downward motion of the elevator was making her lightheaded with her nerves. "She's the one who's trying to get Jack Gaston to ask her out, right?"

"French, if you think I know what kind of depraved social experiments go on outside my office-"

"No, I mean, I think she may dislike me…due to his continuing and unwanted attention towards myself," Lacey mumbled, trying not to turn red with fury. "It may have… " She fumbled with a polite way to phrase this to the owner of the paper before deciding on, "…slipped her mind to call me with proper protocol for undercover assignments."

Reese nodded, glancing past her at their reflection in the metal of the doors before they slid open. He held his arm out for her to stay, exited the elevator, checked both ways and then motioned her out.

"Mendell called to say he approved of you covering the story but also mentioned a few photographers had followed him to the meeting. We were finalizing your backstory when his assistant called to finalize delivery of files for you. We had them sent to your apartment listed in your file before clearing you from our employee records."

"I don't-"she started but the older man paved ahead, walking a few steps in front of her and swerving his head as they exited the lobby towards the parking garage stairwell.

"If you were photographed with Mendell and then it was announced you worked here, you would have no chance of going undercover fully, we took the steps to be able to plausibly deny your employment here. No one should connect Lacey French, research and journalist from The _Looking Glass_ as the same girl as Belle Ives, librarian and newest transplant in Storybrooke, MASS."

"I already have a backstory?" She had been hoping to have a hand in it herself, give her the necessary tools she would need to delve into the dark past of unsolved cased like Greg's father-

"All at your apartment, which I believe is still under your father's name?"

"Yes…" she answered slowly, starting to wonder if she had not been picked due to her skill and ingenuity as much she had been picked due to convenience.

"Now, your car should stay here, out of the way. I've texted my usual driver, he's sending a man over to pick you up and take you back to your apartment, you will find your files, a new laptop, a bus ticket to Storybrooke, and folder full of your new identity, including driver's license, birth certificate, credit cards, and a checking account that you will find has enough to get you through two months of hotel and board. A new cell phone registered to Belle Ives is also there, programmed to certain familiar numbers including mine. Mendell is off the board for now, if you need to reach him, his assistant can help you."

"Sir," Lacey interrupted, taking a deep breath. "This is- I don't-... what I'm trying to say is- I don't think you had any intention of allowing me to turn down this assignment."

Reese looked at her over his glasses, texting quickly with his left hand before snapping his phone closed and throwing it in his coat pocket. He looked up at her with a serious look that reminded her of her late father before sighing and looking back down.

"French, as I am sure is not news to you, the paper isn't doing well. Greg Mendell is offering a lot of money to bankroll us in advertising and his network is standing behind him with other programming advertising including print and online ads- the paper wasn't in a position to turn him down."

She nodded; she was all too aware the paper was having financial problems. She wrapped her arms around herself a little tighter, the cold air of end of October bracing even in her jacket. Reese seemed unfazed, but she noticed his ears were turning red.

"He wanted one of my best to go up to Storybrooke, do a few poking and prodding- problem was my best have all been nationally recognized as investigative reporters. He came in the office to meet Gaston-"

"You were going to send Jack?" Lacey exclaimed, casting a look of incredulity to Reese who shrugged.

"He's our senior journalist without any major awards- no one would place him as a writer for a paper- personal trainer cover story or something but Mendell came in, saw you arguing something with someone in the kitchen and asked for you. Liked your spirit, said he wanted someone with something to prove and while I was hesitant to send you- your work did speak for itself."

She brushed aside the uncomfortable feeling she had about Greg earlier; His pleasure at her being assigned had been less authentic than she had realized, she hated when she was outplayed but she acknowledged the TV show host had managed to play her rather well. She was slightly relieved she wouldn't be dealing with him for the majority of the story.

"But this story- it's- you know it's probably just going to be tilting after windmills," Lacey raised her arms in frustration. "There's no guarantee I'll find out what happened to all these people, and I'll have just been wiped off the face of this Earth until what- Mendell gets bored? I disappear? The _Looking Glass_ closes?"

Headlights came swerving in from the upper deck as a green sedan pulled up towards them. They watched it approach and as it hummed to a stop, she sighed, shaking her head in frustration. The driver opened his door to emerge but Reese waved him back inside for a moment, turning to her.

She was breathing hard, heart beating rashly and her skin felt too tight. She didn't like the idea of going home now- now that she was no longer Lacey but some girl named Belle. Some girl no one knew because two days ago, she didn't exist. And a librarian? How was she going to get any information from anyone as some meek librarian?

"Lacey," Reese said calmly, and she focused despite herself. Mo Reese was infamous for never calling anyone by their first name- "You have my word, if you have found nothing substantial and you feel this is a fool's task, Christmas Eve I will bring you home, review a possible permanent move to a writer's desk, and make sure we tell this Mendell fellow where to stick his money."

She nodded, forcing a weak noise of agreement that she didn't feel. He nodded back, opening the door for her.

"Duckie, will you please get Fren-, I'm sorry, Ives to her destination. She may also need to schedule a pickup to take her to the bus station tomorrow."

"Best of luck, Ives," he said quietly, shaking her hand firmly before heading down the dingy parking lot towards his usual spot.

She watched him for am moment, trying to swallow the dry ball in her throat before Duckie cleared his throat.

"Ma'am? You ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," she replied, sliding into the car and shutting the door firmly behind her.

**Author's Note:**

** First, I am sure some of you have a running tally of grammatical and spelling errors- please feel free to message me any. I am working without a beta and while I tried to catch them all- I am afraid I may have missed a few when I got caught up in tweaking the story instead of the structure. **

**Second, this story has not yet been completed. But I've been writing bits and pieces of it for a while and finally got brave enough to post this first chapter.**

**I always thought the Lacey storyline was interesting- a flawed woman and a flawed man who brought out the worst in each other was an interesting take on the Rumbelle arc and I was a bit disappointed when they abruptly brought it to an end when Mr. Gold needed his Belle back instead of exploring that side of her. **

**You can of course argue that it was a nasty curse designed to bring up her worst attributes just like Snow was reduced to a meek lonely slip of a woman- the very thing the Evil Queen wanted her most to be- but what if the cursed persona was based on a small part of herself she hid away to survive? Doesn't that it make them even more interesting?**

**So, I decided to try and write a tale about a woman from our world named Lacey who embraces her flaws as virtues to get what she wants and how her life changes when she stumbles into a world with very different rules. **

**So, please don't expect the exact OUAT Belle in this story, this is a different fairytale. **

**Thanks for reading,**

**-B**


	2. Chapter 2

In less than two days' time, Lacey found herself standing at the Storybrooke bus stop, an idling bus door sliding shut behind her with a hiss. The bus creaked and groaned as it pulled away, back down the road, heading towards civilization and abandoning her in Small Town, USA.

She tore her eyes from the departing bus, biting the inside of her cheek hard enough to draw blood before she finally tore her gaze away to look around.

Old wooden buildings were nestled in with newer bricks buildings, pastel whites and creams, greens and yellows covered the storefronts with various mom and pop shops mixed with what appeared to be a post office and the occasional other government building. Hand painted signs, curtained windows and old blue mailboxes completed the picture.

It was simple, a few stores with their doors propped open to invite stragglers inside, the occasional car driving slowly down the street. The fall colors had already begun to fall off the trees, but all were carefully swept in piles off the sidewalk.

It was quaint, endearing and wholly unbearable.

Lacey closed her eyes and counted to five, reminding herself it was only for two months- when a large ringing reverberated down the street.

Opening her eyes, Lacey turned towards the noise, registering a large building, just visible over the top of the bus station gazebo where she was standing. A clock tower was nestled in its heights, its face glowing slightly in the morning sun. It was announcing noon, the chimes slowly fading out of the air as it finished its solemn duty.

As if to echo the clock, her stomach rumbled noisily, reminding her she hadn't eaten much since her lunch with Greg. She glanced around to see if there was a place she could sit down, maybe grab a bite to eat.

As it happened, across the street, a small local diner seemed to be already bustling for lunch. Lacey headed towards the light gray old house, going up the low porch steps before swinging open the glass door to enter.

It was one large room with a white lunch counter where a few people were sitting and talking animatedly with the chef while a few others read their newspapers quietly, chewing on a fry in afterthought.

A sign over the kitchen window read 'Welcome to Granny's' with fanciful lettering complete with woodsy printed wallpaper, hand drawn evergreens and oaks stenciled on the cream paper. Seating was readily available despite the crowd with the 50's vinyl booths along the wall with checkered tablecloths and metal aluminum tables on the floor with vinyl padded matching chairs skidding across the checkered tile floor.

Cute as Granny's was, it didn't take long for Lacey to discover the little town wasn't nearly as welcoming as she had at first anticipated it might be.

Upon her arrival, the closest server had pointed her hesitatingly over to a booth in the corner, a few diners turning around in their seats to watch her as she walked past. She avoided eye contact, keeping her eyes fixed on the menu, fighting off the itch to look up and glare at the gapers.

When her waitress finally come over, she stared openly at the suitcase before starting, "Welcome to Granny's, my name is Paige and I'll be serving you today- what can I get ya?"

"Actually, some coffee if you have it," Lacey said, rubbing her temple with her fingers. "Just got in town and I'm half asleep."

"Heading up to Canada?" Paige asked, flicking her eyes back to the suitcase. "We get a lot of people who like to take the scenic route."

"Stopping here actually," Lacey corrected, watching as Paige's eyes slide back to hers in curiosity before she averted them. "You wouldn't happen to know where I might find a realtor or someone, would you?"

"Small town like this," her waitress responded, cracking her gum as she aggressively started to tap her pen against her pad. "Don't have a lot of need for realtors - word of mouth usually serves us fine. Now, did you want to order something for lunch or-?"

Tampering down her rising annoyance, Lacey glanced down at the menu to buy herself a minute. Paige huffed, "Okay, let me get your coffee, I'll be right back."

Before Lacey could stop her, Paige had hustled off towards the bar area, a few customers glancing back at Lacey before leaning forward to Paige, talking in low voices obviously about her. She could see Paige bent down in conversation, her promise of coffee ignored in the face of all the undivided attention.

Lacey used the time to watch out the window beside her. People were walking about, a few running errands with bags at their sides but others just strolled, waving to each other from across the street, stopping and talking to each other. It seemed everyone more or less knew each other.

It was a very friendly town, she noted, knowing her usual city slicker persona would stick out like a sore thumb here. Glancing back around the diner, she watched as a few people left, waving goodbye to the rest of the lunch crowd and greeting those arriving. Lacey toyed with the silverware, worrying her lip in thought.

By the time, Paige came back, her stomach was loudly protesting. Smiling up at Paige the best she could through her foggy exhaustion, Lacey sweetened her tone before proceeding, "Sorry about earlier, I didn't mean to offend, I just, well I guess, -" Pausing, Lacey glanced down at her hands, before continuing in a low voice,", Could I just get the lunch special please?"

"Sure thing, hon," Paige replied, thawing slightly. She hurried away, but this time she went straight to the counter to put the order in, dropping off a few packets of creamer for the coffee moments later.

Lacey sat sipping her coffee and watching as the diner picked up swiftly, a few families coming in and a few blue collar guys taking over the lunch counter, all shouting their hellos and fighting about what to put on the lone TV perched in the corner. Paige dropped off the turkey club sandwich special before hurrying off to her other tables and Lacey sat forgotten, watching and occasionally toying with her phone, looking up the weather back home and desperately wishing she could check her now inactive e-mail.

So, it surprised Lacey when Paige came back, dropping off a small brochure on the table.

"You could always try the Inn," the waitress suggested, scooping up the empty plate as she dropped the bill off. "Eddie over there," she gestured towards a man who was sitting at the counter. "He works up there, probably could give you a ride so you don't have to hoof it."

As the waitress hurried away with her card, Lacey picked up the brochure. It was thin, a single one sided slip of paper that had a picture of two dark russet doors, cracked open to reveal a large chestnut staircase, sweeping upwards and out of the focus of the photo. The words "Storybrooke Inn" were stamped on the bottom of the paper in elegant calligraphy with a telephone number below it in block letters. Lacey flipped it over to see the backside was cream paper, noticing there was no address.

Luckily, Eddie, a middle aged balding man with a baseball cap pulled low over his protruding ears had been heading back up to the Inn after lunch. He agreed to give her a lift. He seemed incredibly shy, looking fixedly at his shoes the whole time, the tips of his ears turning red as they stuck out from under his cap.

Thanking Paige for the help, Lacey hurried back out into the sun, fumbling with her suitcase on the sidewalk cracks. Eddie was parked right out front, an old red ford pickup with Storybrooke Inn painted n fading green letters along the side. Eddie took the suitcase from her, tossing it in the back before swinging the passenger door open for her.

Fed and slightly warmed, Lacey felt much more herself as they headed up towards the coast where the Storybrooke Inn stood high on a cliff overlooking the otherwise flat city of Storybrooke. The town itself was laid out in a curved semi-circle, Main Street curving in an open parenthesis shape. The town surrounded the coast bay with woods flanking it on other sides, a nest of tranquility in between two forces of nature.

During the drive, Eddie pointed out a few landmarks, old buildings and the road to the docks but kept his eyes on the road the whole trip, stammering awkwardly whenever his eyes accidently met hers. Lacey took note of the bustling dock and the small stores that lined the streets, not recognizing any chain names.

Nearing the Inn's drive, she realized they had been going fairly uphill for the last few blocks, already over the valley where the diner had been.

As they drove through the large gated entrance of the Inn's drive, Lacey noticed the old antique iron wrought detailing around the opening. She turned in her seat to get a better look as they drove through, noticing the fence itself wrapped as far as she could see around the property itself. It appeared to switch from iron to solid brick before it disappeared along the hill crest leading towards the woods. The opposing side drifted towards the cliffs of the beach, waves roaring faintly over the wind.

She was surprised to find the Inn itself was a mammoth old manor with cobbled stones and dark accents with turrets and curved stone walls spreading out on the lawn and overlooking the city like a feudal castle of old. It reached up at least five stories tall, blockish with shorter wings on either side of it. It would have looked at home anywhere in England but it's color scheme and odd distorted shape lent itself to the land in a way that made it look like it had been built over the years to fit the ever-changing landscape of the seacoast.

"It's beautiful," she marveled, watching as the sunlight winked off the various windows of the top floors. "How old is it?"

"About a hundred years," Eddie answered, smiling slightly to himself at her genuine interest. "Old harbor town like this had to have a nice place for folks to gather."

"Do you all still get a lot of tourists?" She asked, turning to look at him. He had shaken his head fitfully at the attention, twitching his nose in embarrassment.

"That's a shame," Lacey murmured, craning her head as they pulled up to the front of the Inn. _How do they afford to upkeep this place? _She mused, noticing all the ground floor windows were sparkling clean, a few open to let in the fall sea breeze. _Must cost a fortune. _

Getting out of the truck, she made sure to thank Eddie, who nodded shyly, ducking his head down in his collared shirt before he had pointed her up the main stairs, handing her the suitcase from the bed of the truck.

As he got back in the driver's seat to move the truck, a woman opened the door, watching as Lacey started to struggle up the polished stone stairs with her suitcase. The woman watched Eddie drive around the building before she looked back down at Lacey, eyeing her suitcase with interest.

"Checking in?" The woman inquired. Lacey managed to bite back the scathing reply that rose to mind, instead smiling as best she could as she had dragged her suitcase up another step.

"New to town," she chirped; wincing as her curls flew into her face from the high winds off the coast, clawing them out of her eyes the best she could without tipping backwards down the stairs. "Someone told me you might have some vacancies?"

"Oh, dear," the woman sighed, pulling the door open wider to let her in. "You really aren't from around here, are you?"

"Just off the bus," Lacey replied, wheezing slightly as she finally topped the large stairs. "Eddie was kind enough to give me a lift from Granny's."

"Well, best come on in," the woman advised, shooing her in before walking in behind her. "What did you say your name was?"

Lacey turned from taking in the large entry way, double stairs curling upwards to the second floor landing, hunter green striped wallpaper faded from the years but still pressed neatly o the wall, an old heater humming merrily in the bowels of the building. "It's Belle, Belle Ives," she said, holding out her hand.

"Alice Aiken," her host supplied, gripping her hand for a moment before dropping it and continuing past the staircase to a small room off the main hall. "How many nights will you be staying with us, Ms. Ives?"

"Not sure, actually," Lacey answered honestly, putting down her suitcase. "I'm new to town so-"

Alice looked up at that, a look of hesitation flittering across the previously unreadable face. "Do you plan on staying in Storybrooke?"

"Fresh start," Lacey had murmured, glancing around at the old room with its dark colors and bookshelves. "Picked a direction and just rode the bus until I felt like stopping."

Alice looked back down at her computer, clicking a few things as she silently digested the information. Lacey busied herself looking around the room which appeared to be an old study, wood paneling along the windows was worn with time and sun but were carefully dusted and polished. A few newer pieces were scattered around the room including a Wi-Fi modem and router ducked on a nearby desk.

"It seems nice here," she continued through Alice's silence. "And I just really need a place to stop and catch my breath for a bit." Lacey paused, watching Alice out of the corner of her eye.

"Well then, you should probably head down to the Sheriff's office," Alice finally replied. "People usually post the odd housing notice or job opening down on the town bulletin board there. Sheriff Graham or Deputy Swann should be able to help. Eddie can take you down there on his way home this afternoon and one of the sheriffs can drop you bring you back up here on their rounds."

"I don't want to be any trouble-," Lacey started quietly but Alice cut her off with a shake of her head.

"Won't be a problem," she said. "Not a lot around here for those two to do, least they can do is give a girl a lift. Now, as you happen to be our only current guest, you have your pick of a view. Ocean or wood?"

Choosing a woods view, the fall foliage still beautiful despite the dropping temperatures, Lacey followed Alice up the stairs towards her room. "Is this your down season?" Belle asked, trailing her fingers along the balustrade.

"Our only real busy time is wedding season during the spring and our annual Gala, which is actually coming up in December."

"A Gala?" Lacey repeated, pausing to glance at an old gilded mirror which reflected her wind tossed hair and chapped lips back at her. The pale girl before her looked pathetic- red rimmed eyes from exhaustion and tense shoulders hunched forward. Lacey ignored her injured vanity, knowing her ragged appearance had probably helped more than hurt her today.

As Alice walked her to her room, she continued to explain that every year the town got together at the Inn, an old tradition from the town's first days as a trade outpost.

"Everyone comes- from the newborns to the elderly- celebrating fall's end with a huge dinner and a night of dancing before everyone goes upstairs to their room to sleep it off. It started as the harvest feast but over time, it just slowly transformed to a Christmas celebration, the town's way of bringing the community together out of the darkness."

"Sounds wonderful," Lacey had quipped, trying to picture the population of a whole town under one roof.

"And we have the usual meetings and club gatherings in our ball rooms downstairs, we really only keep the second floor open for guests year long, all the other floors are closed off typically."

"Is the Inn on any historical marker list?" Lacey had asked, eyeing the old wood paneling of the individual doors.

"Sure is, but its' mostly just a local treasure and we honestly prefer it that way. Now, your room is just down this hall," Alice had replied, effectively ending the conversation.

Later that afternoon, Eddie drove her back down to town, dropping her off at a small building, tucked slightly off Main Street across the way from what appeared to be a coffee shop, The Chipped Cup.

After a few moments of internally prepping herself, mostly just finalizing her backstory- new to town, bad break up, looking for a fresh start, Lacey gathered the character of Belle Ives around her like a costume before striding forward to push the door open.

She stepped into the entryway, bell jangling merrily overhead and directly into unmitigated chaos.

A tall, lanky man who appeared to be the sheriff and a woman who appeared to be his deputy had both been standing at their respective desks, phones ringing, one on top of the other, loose paper scattered over every surface imaginable including the floor. A bullet ridden file cabinet was propping a jail cell door open, the cell's blankets were draped like a tent from the hanging water pipe overhead, and a Dalmatian sat panting happily in the corner, his red collar askew.

Lacey's eyes wandered over the confused mess as she stood awkwardly in the doorway. The two harried sheriffs remained unaware of their new arrival, both too busy on the phone, wearily explaining in monotonous tones "the reason the main traffic light hadn't been fixed yet" and "no- the city isn't responsible for damages in the interim-"

Lacey was momentarily taken aback, glancing between the two young officers, both oblivious to her entrance and continuing to answer their respective phones, shoulders hunched in weary resignation. For a brief moment, Lacey even considered leaving, overwhelmed with the sheer ludicrousness of the scene before her.

Lacey finally managed to catch the Sheriff's attention by toying noisily with the zipper of her jacket. He looked up, rubbed the scruff on his face absently as he tried to place her before nodding in polite but tentative greeting. He motioned to a chair nearby just as another phone at the empty desk jingled to life.

That's when Lacey did something that surprised them all.

Stepping to the loudly ringing telephone, she picked it up with a sweet, "Sheriff's Office, this is Belle, how can I help you?" and managed to get the name, number and complaint of the townsperson, promised to have someone call them back by the end of business day and hang up without issue.

She was unofficially hired within an hour and by the second week, Sheriff Graham Hunt had agreed to a full time job with benefits. Her new position at the station gave her unrestricted access to old police files and potential leads. She couldn't have done better if she had actually tried.

However, working closely with law enforcement professionals while undercover proved to be more challenging than she anticipated.

Graham had been a simple nut to crack: hardworking, young with a lot to prove and a deep dedication to his hometown and community. He was welcoming and warm but deeply private about his own personal life; his only noticeable in professionalism was his obvious interest in his deputy sheriff.

The woman in question, Emma Swann, was an entirely different puzzle. A loner by nature, Emma was polite but curt with most people. She had an unusual manner that made Lacey feel uncomfortable without really knowing why. For the first few days, Lacey had avoided her as much as possible.

Unfortunately, Emma seemed unusually bothered by Belle, often asking pointed questions about her past and her family while avoiding any personal questions Lacey asked in return. Emma's constant attention hindered Lacey's attempts to glance through any old files. For a while, it looked like her luck at getting a job at the Sheriff's office was going to prove worthless.

As it happened, two weeks after her arrival, the seniors over at the school played their annual senior's prank during exams which involved fireworks, helium filled blow up dolls and a very angry goat in the air vents.

Before Graham returned from his early morning fishing trip, Lacey managed to help Emma safely put out the fires, wrangle all the floating sex toys from the gymnasium rafters, as well as return the goat to his home before he was missed.

Somewhere during the goat's near successful attempt to break down the patrol car's back window with his rear hooves, she and Emma became fast friends.

Over the weeks working with Emma and Graham, her constant searching through outdates and misfiled old cases kept her busy, writing notes on scraps of papers and snapping photos with cell phone camera. The real challenge was keeping the sweet natured Belle in character instead of reverting back to her usual skeptical and sharp tongued persona.

Which some days was harder than others.

One early December morning as she was trudging towards the sheriff's office for the day shift, the next large gust of wind surprised her and nearly knocked her sideways. She instinctively cursed, grabbing at a nearby street lamp as her feet started to slip out from under her on the ice.

"Language, Belle!" snorted a voice from behind her. She turned her head back to see Emma, holding two cups of coffee, heading back towards the Sheriff's office from the Chipped Cup Coffee Shop. "You kiss your mother with that mouth?"

"I'm sorry, I must have just panicked," she confessed, trying to brush off her slip as she tentatively released the lamp pole.

"You know, I don't think I ever heard you swear before," Emma said as she approached. "Must be hanging around me too much. What's with all the padding?"

"It's cold out here! What are you, crazy?" Lacey shivered, gesturing towards Emma's only layer, her signature red leather jacket. "You don't even have any gloves on!"

"I was going ten feet across the street, you wimp," Emma pointed out, joining her on the sidewalk and handing her one of the cups. Lacey curled her gloved fingers around it lovingly, raising it to her face and feeling the steam wafting through the lid. She paused before she took a sip of it, looking over at Emma with a puckish grin.

"So, is this for me or Sheriff Skinnypants?" Lacey teased, watching as Emma reddened slightly.

"No," Emma growled, frowning at her over the rim of her cup. "Graham's off today. I was just trying to perk up your morning, but if this is the thanks I get-" Emma pulled the door to the Sheriff's office open, Lacey rushing ahead of her to get out of the cold. "I'll take it back over there and tell them I work with an ingrate."

"No, no!" Lacey laughed, setting her cup down on her desk and shaking out of her parka. "It was really very sweet of you to think of me. Thank you, Emma."

"You are very welcome," Emma answered, waving her hand in a sarcastic sweep before bending her knee in a faux curtsey dip.

"You know, you are way too good at that," Lacey noted, sitting down and flipping her hair out from her scarf.

"Had practice," Emma muttered, plopping down at her desk and kicking her feet up.

"Beauty pageants?" Lacey asked distractedly, combing through the service calls from the night shift. She recognized most of the usual suspects- locals with too much time on their hands, neighbors with decade old vendettas, the town drunk and some fish pond-

"If only," Emma pulled out her cell phone and started punching at it in her usual direct way. "I hate this thing; I don't understand why I have to have a work cell phone on me at all times when this desk phone works just fine."

"Graham still hasn't texted you back?" Lacey asked, looking over just in time to see Emma's mouth tighten in a thin line.

"Seriously, Belle," Emma grumbled, avoiding her eye. "I'm seriously considering replacing you with a robot. Stop it with the whole Graham thing."

"Well then you two stop being so peculiar around each other. The kid we were holding in here last week for skipping school was practically begging me to call his mom by the time I got back from my lunch break, told me he couldn't take _Days of Our Lives_ anymore."

Emma looked over with a raised eyebrow, "Days of what now?"

"It's a soap opera," Lacey waved it off. Emma had grown up with her grandparents who didn't apparently believe in cable or VCRs. She often completely missed pop culture references others, shooting others a bewildered, confrontational glare when she didn't understand a joke.

Lacey reached for last night's call log which she had printed out from their voicemail system. "Hey, looks like Mrs. Silverton called again just a minute ago."

"That the lady from Tennessee looking for her son?" Emma asked, sipping her coffee and continuing to toy with her phone.

"Yea," Lacey mumbled, rereading the details. "She's been calling pretty regularly lately, hasn't she?"

"Graham mentioned families often pick up calling around the anniversary, it's on their minds more," Emma shrugged, keeping her eyes on her phone screen. Lacey started to memorize the information, careful to note the number and name so she could double check it against her files when she got back to her apartment.

"The kid was supposed to be in Canada at the time, how could he possibly have been outside Storybrooke?" Emma continued, flipping on her desk lamp.

"I don't know," Lacey murmured distractedly, trying to remember the last missing person case information she had unearthed while "helping file" the other day. Greg's father's case was over twenty years old and had been buried in the back under wildlife accident but a few others in the interim years had disappeared or had been reported missing in the winter months, fitting with the winter solstice timeline.

Lacey pulled the file up on her old computer. No one had heard from Joshua Silverton since his last text to his girlfriend before he stopped for gas on the main highway north. The filed report noted the office had informed Mrs. Joanne Silverton her son had never been to town, had no record of him driving through and no explanation on why his cell phone tracker showed his last location as being within twenty miles of the small town.

Emma grumbled some more before stretching slightly, hands reached out as she said, "Just give it to me and I'll file it."

Lacey nodded, careful not to show any outward sign of interest as she wordlessly handed it over. Emma was sharp and had keen observation skills. She often liked to unnerve people by telling them she could always tell if they were lying.

Which in Lacey's short experience, it took a liar to spot one.

Casually elbowing her notepad, Lacey knocked her pen to the floor, leaning down nonchalantly to pick it up. She let her hair fall into her face as she bent down; watching through her curtain of curls as Emma quickly folded the paper and stuck it in her jacket pocket, continuing to flick through her cell phone.

Lacey straightened, tucking her hair behind her ear, turning back to her work with a frown. She doubted that call would ever be logged and she glanced back at Emma cautiously, eyeing her doubtfully.

Working together could be tense at times since both women felt the other one wasn't being completely honest. A few probing conversations had finally led Lacey to drop during a lunch one afternoon that Belle may not be her real name, but a possible cover from an old abusive flame. Emma had seemed satisfied, dropping the subject completely.

On the other hand, Emma's story about being raised by her grandparents out in the boonies of northern New York never felt quite true either- and she tended to avoid the topic whenever it came up.

Lacey didn't think Emma had anything to do with the disappearances but...

Emma was relatively new to town as well, most of the town didn't trust her yet and she had a tendency to be a lone wolf. Often doing what she felt best instead of following the rules and procedures the Sheriff's office had in place to deal with small town problems.

Of course, Lacey had toyed with the idea that Emma was here for the same reason she was- but Emma never seemed curious about the things that seemed odd to Lacey.

Phone calls from a worried mother were handled perfunctory while Lacey kept hoping for a chance to talk to the woman- find out what her son was doing around here and why he may have ended so far off course. Other missing cases that Lacey dragged out or "discovered misfiled" were often ignored, both Graham and Emma shrugging them off before they changed the subject to a more recent issue at hand.

All in all, life in Storybrooke stayed calm, easy going and pleasant… (If one liked small towns)

So, her first few weeks had mostly been full of research, getting to know owners of shops, talk to people who came to the station, build herself up as someone you could talk to, confide in- but small town people had a different view of outsiders. They found Belle warm and inviting often stopping to talk with her but they still tended to keep to themselves about their own business.

Graham, who had been born and raised here, had told her one night not to worry so much about it.

"People will warm up to you over time," he said, bumping down the secondary main road as he took her home after a late shift. "Just give them some time to get to really know you. Hell, most of them still don't care for Emma and she's been here almost a year now."

She dismissed the odd feeling, chalking it up to Emma's disdain for paperwork, returning to her usual morning routine. It was a slow day, a few calls came in but the winter weather seemed to be keeping most people inside and out of trouble. Graham called around five to tell them to go ahead and close the office for the night, an early Christmas present.

"God, I can't believe it's almost Christmas," Lacey said, following Emma out the door, flicking off the lights as they left. "I swear it was just summer yesterday."

"I like it," Emma replied, blinking up at the night sky. Lacey stopped besides her, gazing up as well.

The stars were out, clear and bright this evening rivaling for attention with the Christmas lights strung along every roof and store front as far as the eye could see. The two women stared up for a bit, both adrift in their own thoughts when a loud honking startled them out of their reverie.

Down the road, a couple was waving goodbye to their friends, driving away in an old pickup, the back of the truck filled with logs.

"Are they chopping down trees for firewood?" Emma started forward, her authority face firmly set before Lacey held her arm out to stop her. "I didn't see a permit for-"

"Relax, Emma!" Lacey quietened, lowering her arm. "It's just the Jones. Some trees fell down on their farm last week during the storm. They're giving the excess wood away; they stopped by the station earlier this week to see if we needed any."

Emma nodded, twisting her hands in her jacket, staring off at the disappearing truck bed. Lacey bit her cheek, knowing what was really bothering the blonde.

"I'm sure they stopped at your place, Em," Lacey assured. "You probably were just working late when they did."

"Yea, sure," Emma consented but it lacked conviction. "You' know, you've only been here a month and everyone's already half in love with you. 'That nice Belle girl is such a doll- can't understand why she's not settled down yet' while most people cross the street to avoid talking to me…"

"Yes, Emma, because you know I just I love it when people I barely know discuss me and my life choices," Lacey deadpanned, causing Emma to crack a grin. "Besides Graham likes you just fine. And so do I. The others will get there; you just… take some adjusting to, is all."

Emma looked far away for a moment, glancing back up at the sky before back at her shoes.

"Yea, I get that a lot."

Lacey nudged her with her elbow, trying to break her out of her bad mood. She considered what to do with the night as they wandered down the road, the temperature dropping fast.

She had hit a low point in her research and while the disappearance of the young man last year was a credible lead, she still wasn't sure what she was going to tell Reese when he called in four days. She was eager to get home, back to an actual career and an apartment with a dishwasher.

Back to a life where she was Lacey French, investigative reporter for the _Looking Glass_ instead of Belle Ives, Storybrooke Sheriff's Secretary.

"Let me buy you a hamburger," Lacey decided suddenly, heading off towards the diner without waiting for a response.

"Oh, twist my arm a little harder, "Emma groaned laughingly, trudging along.

"What are friends for?" Lacey retorted, picking up the pace.

The two walked side by side down the path, a few flurries dusting the lawn outside the diner. The promise of more snowfall that evening made them hurry inside, shaking their boots off at the door.

"Hey, what did you say you were doing Saturday night?" Lacey asked, noticing a local ad for the big Christmas Gala, recalling Alice reminding about it when she had checked out of her room. Even Graham had been talking about it the other day, showing excitement about something other than guns and hunting for a change.

"It's an annual town tradition," Graham had said, eyeing Emma across the room. "Everyone goes."

"This Saturday?" Emma asked looking over the menu, despite the fact she got the hamburger every single time.

"Yea," Lacey confirmed, finding her usual sandwich on the menu. "Just thinking about sharing a room for the Gala- unless you already made room reservations with someone else?"

"Uh, I think I already have plans," Emma mumbled, keeping her gaze fixed on the menu. "I'll have to see- maybe we could do something Sunday instead?"

Lacey unlocked her phone, going to check the weekend's dates but she realized the diner had a calendar perched on the windowsill, a merry and bright countdown to Christmas. She leaned forward to check the dates and froze.

That upcoming Saturday was the 21st.

Marked clearly on the calendar as the year's Winter Solstice.

She sat back down heavily, looking at the calendar, mouth slightly open and brow furrowed. Emma glanced up from her menu, noticing her expression.

"Belle, what is it? You look like you've just seen a ghost," Emma grew concerned, peering out the window as if looking for someone.

"Oh no, I'm fine," Lacey promised, reaching for her sweet tea and waving her hand to dispel Emma's panic. "Just warmed up too fast- got woozy for a second."

"Oh," Emma replied, cocking her head in concern. She looked like she was considering pressing the issue but Lacey offered a shaky smile, forcing herself to relax. Emma finally nodded in begrudging acceptance before asking, "What were you saying before?"

"I was wondering what you were doing Saturday night," Lacey repeated, trying for nonchalant as she picked up her menu again. Her heart was beating oddly, thumping loudly enough she was sure Emma could hear it across the table.

"Just something-," Emma was saying, pushing at the salt shaker absently. "It's my one year anniversary here- thought I'd stay in with a glass of wine and toast my small accomplishments, watch some movie I've never seen before, get drunk out of self-pity and stay out of everyone's way- can't we just do something Sunday instead? I won't be any fun Saturday and besides I hate getting all dressed up."

Lacey nodded along in forced agreement, trying not to look at Emma.

She knew the other woman was lying. Emma wasn't really the type to host a pity party for one, much less admit to it. The deputy hated anything resembling weakness _especially_ when it came to herself.

Now, avoiding a social event where everyone in town would be attending- that did sound like Emma.

The whole town knew Emma but only four or so of them actually went out of their way to speak to her. Most townspeople including the serving staff at the diner and coffee shop kept a careful almost cautious distance from her.

Even now, Lacey noticed a family sitting nearby looking over nervously, the young mother catching Lacey's eye and looking guiltily away.

Which was weird, Lacey mused. Graham's excuses aside, they had all warmed to Belle after a few days. Lacey had marked that up to her small skills at being able to read people but now, sitting at a booth across from her colleague- now she wasn't so sure.

It definitely was an odd coincidence the Winter Solstice just happened to also be Emma's one year anniversary in Storybrooke. But as she looked outside, watching a man stumbling along as his dog pulled against his leash in the cold night, she had to admit that if Greg hadn't pointed out the winter solstice pattern, Emma's reluctance probably wouldn't seem odd at all.

Most people didn't like authority figures, Lacey considered, especially a small town community where a practical stranger to the town was second in command to the Sheriff himself. A young woman at that.

She looked up catching Emma's eye. Both sat for a moment, the awkward feeling of uncertainty hanging between them.

"So, are you getting the chicken?" Lacey managed to joke, knowing full well Emma would order her usual- a rare hamburger with extra pickles and hot sauce.

Emma rolled her eyes with a groan as she kicked at Lacey's shins under the table causing them both to start chuckling dispelling the tension.

Lacey decided put it the whole mess of her head for the night, noting she could always see if she could get any more information about Emma from Graham if it still bothered her in the morning.

Author's Notes:

Welcome to Storybrooke!

Special Greeting to **whatacarch819, Teresa Martin, QuotetheRaven666, Trekkie, DruidKitty, lisbeth snape,** and **9aza** for following the story and to **Left my heart in Paris** for the story's first review!

Thanks for deciding to stick around and see what's going to happen-bit of a slow burn as we learn what's so special about Storybrooke and what the disappearances mean for our favorite gumshoe. We are getting ever closer to the Winter Solstice and you can all guess what that means…

Plot development!

But look- Emma and Sheriff Skinnypants! And a brief Pongo sighting because I couldn't resist.

If you are interested in what the Inn looks like, and it will be featured more in the next chapter- I based the initial look and feel on the Norumbega Inn. My version is much larger since I had to fit a whole town in there but I loved the look of the old place so when I stumbled upon while researching I couldn't help but be influenced by it.

Again, please DM me with any notices on spelling/grammar errors- working without a beta is a dangerous business.


	3. Chapter 3

Saturday morning, Lacey blinked herself awake, yawning and reaching for the screeching noise that was emitting from her alarm clock.

Rubbing her face with her hands, she willed herself to sit up, letting out another silent yawn and ruffling her bed head lazily. She managed to silence the mechanical noise, eyeing the small device with a frown before glancing out the window beyond it. Outside it was starting to flurry, chunks of white snow drifting along with the wind. She glanced at her phone, pulling up the weather and noticing it was supposed to stop snowing by night fall, temperatures staying well below freezing for the longest night of the year.

She leaned on her elbows, watching the swirling pattern for a bit before giving in to nature's insistent call. She padded across the cold wooden floor, grateful she had managed to keep her socks on while asleep and let herself in the bathroom.

Usually she liked to sleep in on Saturdays but today was the big event at the Inn. Graham had explained most people got dressed, packed up the car and headed over to get ready as a town. Some were helping set up the ball room or help out in the kitchen while others spent the whole days upstairs socializing and primping for the big night. Since Emma was being sullen and refusing to attend, Lacey planned on getting ready mostly at home- heading over to say hello to Alice and Eddie but mostly stay out of the way of the town's preparation.

This year it was a masquerade theme and most people had spent the past few weeks discussing their costumes and masks- completely defeating the purpose as Emma had sarcastically pointed out earlier that week.

She was secretly hoping Graham would be able to convince their co-worker to go to the ball. She had even reserved a room with two beds just in case. Emma had been no fun all week, ignoring any attempt to drag her into conversation about the gala. As nice as everyone was, Lacey preferred the deadpan sense of humor that Emma wielded like a weapon over the usual pleasantries and small town charm.

Brushing her teeth, Lacey caught her mirror's reflection, noticing the bags under her eyes from her late nights researching after a full day working the office phones. A glimmer of gold from behind her caused her to turn slightly, taking in the unusual fixture which had been hanging in her bathroom the past week.

Hanging from the door was the dress she had borrowed from her landlord, Mr. Tellando, for the masquerade. His late wife's, he had said, handing it to her in an old cream dry cleaning bag, looking down at the bag in fond memory. She had tried to decline, having planned on renting a gown online and having it shipped but he had insisted and she had given in once she had seen it.

It was a gorgeous coral princess cut ball gown with scalloped neck and shoulder straps that looped the upper arm, showcasing the collar bone and shoulders of the lady. It dipped down in boning with golden highlights and as the dress fell in heavy folds of the voluminous skirt, the dress became more and more sunset gold.

She had even ordered a pair of golden heels from an online boutique and purchased some matching costume jewelry as well as a golden mask to perch in her hair during the dancing. A perfect goodbye dress for Belle Ives.

As far as her journalism career, Lacey had packed it up that week. Her notes were scanned on to her laptop, all hard copies and scribbles burned in the kitchen trashcan, window open just in case the smoke got too bad.

She was waiting for Reese to call her phone, so she could tell him if there was a story here, no one knew about it. Her last potential lead had fizzled out when the oldest town resident, Ms. Stonage, had kept her for five hours going on about the history of the town and the minor scandals it had faced putting in a sewer system back in the day.

Founded by William Booke, blah blah blah, settled by his descendants and keeping a small town community in the face of today's metro lifestyle, blah blah blah. Lacey had very nearly fallen asleep over her tea and biscuits. Her attempt to delve into the mysteries of the town ("But have you heard of all those odd disappearances in the woods? Do you think it was bears? Or- you know, maybe even something worse?") had been met with a serene face and the question of whether she would like more milk in her tea?

All her time in the record room at the Sheriff's office had proven nothing more interesting. A few wolf related deaths in the early years of the station, a couple bears had eaten a few campers in the early seventies but no town person had disappeared since the early fifties- all cases were out of towers, people who seemed to be drawn to the wooded areas on the winter solstice and who found themselves in very unfortunate spots with the local wildlife.

She had just about convinced herself that Greg's father had been eaten by a bear when she had first noticed the Silverton case from the year before.

But when even Graham had brushed it aside, saying if the kid had ever been to Storybrooke it was one thing but that there was no evidence he had never stepped foot in the town. Unconnected.

Lacey was just toweling off her hair, slicking on some gel so she could curl it when a small thought finally crystalized in her mind. She let the towel fall to the floor, stepping over it towards the bedroom.

Pulling out her original notebook, buried under her underwear and half-forgotten since she had typed in most of those notes to her computer, she settled down cross legged in her bathrobe on her bed.

She flipped to her original conversation with Greg, pulling out a map of the local trails she had picked up from the town's only outpost and carefully followed the interstate with her finger to the area Greg had mentioned he had been picked up.

The first thing she noticed was that the Inn was on the opposite side of town. The furthest point away in the city limits. The edge of the woods backed up against some farming land, then some houses and then the main alternate street, followed by the same layout on the other side of town of houses and farms and then the Inn, stuck on the edge of town, high overhead like an afterthought fortress.

From her time staying at the Inn, she knew it was mostly used for local events. The only time people ever stayed there were now out of town family and friends who came back to visit, wedding parties, or the big Town Gala. It was a historic place, known mostly for its town history of being the location where things tended to happen than any kind of viable money making operation. Alice and Eddie were the only fulltime staff. Alice mostly cleaned and cooked for the few guests and Eddie did most of the repair work. A few other local family companies came in to help clean, cook, and work when a large group rented out a hall but for the most part- the Inn stood over the town, looking down at the people but removed from them.

But the annual gala was held on the solstice- an entire town gathered together in the safest place in town.

Lacey stared at her rough sketches for a few minutes, grabbing a pen and circling the area Greg had been found (Mile Marker 90 according to the local police report) and the Inn which was roughly parallel to Mile Marker 145, the two laying between the two circles.

Something was missing but Lacey couldn't quite grasp it- hadn't Greg said something about locals picking him up the next morning? How could he have gotten so close to the interstate by wandering deeper into the woods? He would have had to have been turned around…and there was no mentions of any old properties in the wooded area on the map- the gate he mentioned could be anywhere in the miles and miles of woods that surrounded Storybrooke.

She began to plot different routes, periodically checking notes on other disappearances, noticing the stretch of highway that led through Storybrooke was littered with odd bends and twists in an otherwise straight highway up the coast-

When her phone suddenly lit up with a loud beep, she nearly knocked her laptop off its precarious perch in her surprise.

EMMA NOT HOME. SHE WITH YOU?

She frowned at the phone, typing a negative to Graham who responded back right away.

CAN YOU TRY AND CALL HER?

She did but the phone went straight to Emma's blunt voicemail, "I don't understand why you think leaving a message is going to make me call you back any sooner-"She left a message asking Emma to call her or Graham before she noticed the time.

It was already nearly two p.m.

With a muffled curse, she leapt up off the bed, heading towards her closet to get dressed. She had spent over three hours bent over maps and notes and now she was running late to check in. She texted Graham to let him know she was heading up to the Inn and would call him if she heard from Emma before grabbing a pair of jeans, careful to store her notes back away as she gathered her night bag.

* * *

The Gala had asked everyone to check in before four to get an accurate dinner count. Darkness fell rapidly across the northern sky here in Maine so Lacey pulled up to the Inn, just as they lit the front walk up, lanterns and fairy lights twinkling in the darkening evening.

She lugged her bag out of her car, handing her keys to the valet dressed as coachmen, noticing a few senior boy pranksters who waved at her in memory, grinning over the chin strap of their odd uniform.

Waving hello to a few other people she recognized from her usual rounds, she headed to the check in counter. After a brief conversation with Alice, who assured her she wasn't the last one to check in; Lacey headed up to her room, saying hello to the odd person, dodging kids running in the hall, half dressed as fairies and dragons, and tugging her overnight bag behind her in the narrow corridor.

She quickly began to get ready, arranging her usual curls in a low bun and tilting her mask in like a tiara into her chestnut hair when a knock on the door startled her out of her putting her shoes on.

Hoping it was Emma, she flung open the door to find Sheriff Graham looking forlorn on the other side, a bow and arrow slung over his shoulder.

"Robin Hood?" She guessed gamely, but he shook his head.

"The Huntsman," he mumbled dejectedly. She stepped back to let him in and he slouched past her, fingers plucking at his bow and arrow string.

She took a minute to admire him. He was wearing very tight attractive buff breeches and a black shirt with a leather vest over it. His hair wasn't pushed back as usual, following in curls around his ears and the nape of his neck. Lacey refrained from commenting on the eyeliner he had seemed to put on, it worked for him but she wondered how he knew that. A black Zorro mask dangled limply around his neck, the forgotten icing on the cake.

"You heard from Emma?" He asked, leaning against the old dresser. The rooms were remodeled in the eighties and hadn't been updated much since; Graham's tall lean frame dwarfed the room making her feel slightly claustrophobic.

"No," she replied honestly, checking her phone one more time before slipping it into her hand bag.

Music was beginning to swell up from the main hall, curling up into the air. People's doors were closing and opening, footsteps hurrying down the hallway towards the food and drink awaiting them downstairs.

"Damn it," Graham growled. Lacey lifted an eyebrow at him in surprise and he reddened a bit. "Sorry, it's just- this is a town tradition- she should be here, show she wants to be a part of this community."

"Yea, I mean I think everyone in town is here," Lacey replied, slipping on her shoes, careful not to wrinkle her dress. "I even saw old man Richards and I didn't think he ever left his house."

"It's an unwritten law, "Graham shared, scratching the back of his neck. "If you are a part of this town, if you want to be counted, you attend the Gala. Emma not being here is a flat refusal to be accepted, if she's really set on turning her back-."

"Turning her back?" Lacey asked, pausing in strapping on her left pump. "That's a little dramatic, isn't it?"

"Uh- well figuratively speaking," Graham corrected, looking flustered. He stood up and strode to the window, looking out into the darkness. Lacey peered around him, noting that the entire town was black. It looked like no lights had been left burning, no one at home- the Inn standing in the wood like a glowing beacon on a hill.

"Whoa, did they close the gates?" Lacey asked, leaning around him. "They must be serious about no drunk drivers, huh?"

"Yea, just so people don't get drunk and try to do something stupid," Graham answered but he avoided her eye. He scratched the back of his neck before finally looking over at her.

"Sorry, Belle," he mumbled abashedly. "I didn't even tell you how beautiful you look."

"I'll forgive you," Lacey grinned up at him. "But only if you escort me into the Gala so I'm not some new girl out of my own."

"My lady," he replied, bowing. "It would be my honor."

* * *

The night passed in a blur of champagne and excessive eating, Lacey often lifting her hand to her corseted stomach with a grimace of pain as she ignored her own limitations for just one more bite of the strawberry cheesecake or the roasted chestnuts.

Graham was patrolling the hallways, checking to make sure no one was asleep drunk in the stairwells or causing a ruckus on their floor. He got a free room for this service and Alice offered her the same deal if she watched the ballroom while he patrolled.

During the height of the party, Alice had sided up to her, dressed in a stunning gray gown that flared out at the waist but showed off her small torso and stately shoulders.

"Enjoying the festivities?" Alice asked, handing her another flute from the passing waiter, another local teen who was busier watching the girl in front of him than where he was walking.

"This is wonderful," Lacey enthused, gratefully accepting the glass. "I had no idea Jack Kennedy was such a dancer."

"Careful," Alice laughed, watching the man in question spinning a woman around in his arms. "If you dance with him more than twice, he won't leave you alone for the rest of the night. He loves his dancing."

Lacey joined in on the laughter, noticing a few familiar faces laughing like children, dancing merrily to the music playing throughout the hall. The youngsters had all been taken to bed, the young and young at heart still keeping the party alive in the already wee hours of the morning.

"Graham just popped out to the lobby; he mentioned some of the valets from earlier were having a bit too much fun."

Alice nodded, "Happens every year, they volunteer to work mostly for free beers they sneak out of the kitchen but I was young once- I remember how it was to finally have the first beer on the solstice."

Lacey looked over at the woman, noticing the fine lines and deep laugh marks around Alice's face. Alice caught her looking and grinned at her, "I'm not that old I don't remember my first real solstice gala, young lady," Alice reprimanded her lightly.

Lacey felt the champagne loosening her tongue and she blurted, "Why is it such a big deal to you all? I mean I think it's wonderful but-"

"You don't understand," Alice finished for her, raising her own glass to her mouth and taking a drink. "Course you don't, dear. You're still an outsider."

Lacey felt a slight tinge of sobriety return as Alice turned her eyes to her, cutting out the laughter and music of the party around them. Lacey noticed Graham reentering the party, head turning as he searched for a face that they both knew wasn't in the crowd.

"But perhaps not for much longer," Alice concluded, mistaking Graham's search for Emma as something else entirely.

"Alice," Lacey started, frowning at the older woman but Alice shook her head, watching as a young man went to open the back door.

"Josh," Alice called out, authority coloring her tone. "Close that door this instance, I doubt Ginnifer wants to catch pneumonia before she goes back to school after the holidays. You know the rules."

The young man and his date blushed nicely, closing the door guiltily and heading back towards the far corner of the dance floor where a few of their friends sat watching with smirks on their faces.

"Every year," Alice sighed, shaking her head as she watched the two retreat. "Honestly, it's not like they don't know better."

"What's wrong with letting the kids out for a bit of air?" Lacey asked, confused and thinking a good breeze would be wonderful right then. Alice turned from her, watching as Graham made his way over.

"It's not about letting them out," Alice said quietly. "It's about letting things in."

Lacey opened her mouth in question but Graham reached them.

"Come on, Belle," he said, grasping Lacey's hand for the lively jive that had just come on the speakers, "I hear you haven't danced at all tonight."

He pulled her away from Alice who turned to talk to Mr. Patton who ran the local grocery store. He ignored her protests, pulling her to him in a swinging motion and causing her to laugh despite herself as she collided into another dancer as he spun her away again.

The dance seemed to pass quickly but as another song started, familiar face after familiar face asked for the next dance and Lacey lost time of the night as she talked and laughed, danced and spun. Slowly as the night wore on, Belle Ives became a member of Storybrooke and Lacey French forgot to care.

* * *

Hours later, Lacey was sitting by the large ornate gilded window on the south side of the room, resting her feet. Graham had gone on his last patrols, locking up the front door and checking all fire exits to make sure they were fastened securely but still easily opened in case of emergency.

It was just past two a.m. and the ballroom was empty except for a few youngsters slow dancing and a few older chaperons falling asleep in their chairs.

A couple sneaked towards the stairwell, only to find a sleeping chaperon wearily stand and march them towards the elevator, bent on making sure they got to their respective rooms safely.

Just as the last couple was being whisked off the dance floor by what appeared to be their parents, Graham re-entered, talking with Alice who was gesturing towards the lights. He nodded and Alice waved goodnight at Lacey who waved feebly back across the large hall.

Graham approached her, covering his yawn with the back of his hand.

"Well, that's it. Night's done. What do you say to-"

He stopped short, leaning over her to peer out the window.

"Graham, what are you doing-"Lacey asked, turning to look and stopping short herself.

A figure on horseback was standing just outside the lights from the ballroom beyond the main gate. The horse pawed the earth fitfully while the rider stayed perfectly motionless, their face turned towards the light.

"Who is that? It's not Emma, is it?" Lacey asked, standing and forcing Graham over slightly.

"What would she be doing out there at 2 in the morning?" Graham breathed, backing up slightly to head towards the closest exit.

The rider noticed. With a sudden movement, the horse was off, rushing along the low gate area on the south lawn, towards the woods and away from town.

"What are you doing?" Lacey cried, rushing after Graham as he whipped open the back door. Cold air rushed in, feeling good for a moment in the heated room of the hall before the goose bumps started to rise along her arms.

"Go back inside," Graham ordered, rushing towards the stables. The Inn kept a few horses for the families in town but Lacey hadn't ever considered whether either he or Emma could ride.

"But-"she started, rushing after him, thankful she had chosen thicker heels since they didn't sink into the lawn, allowing her to keep up with Graham's longer strides.

"Get back inside now!" Graham shouted, flinging open the stable door and startling the horses. One bay towards the front neighed in excitement, pawing at the ground when he recognized Graham.

"Is that your horse?" Lacey asked in amazement, her city girl showing more than she meant. Graham was already jumping up, bareback and urging the horse out of the stall. The horse neighed eagerly again, pulling forward on its stirrups.

"Get inside and lock the door behind me, Belle," Graham shouted. "I'll bring her back. That absolute crazy woman, she knows the dangers of tonight-"

"I don't understand-"Lacey started but he was already off, leaning forward as he rushed towards the south lawn. The horse cleared the low fence as easily, running faster, gaining ground.

"What is happening around here?" Lacey shouted, wrapping her arms around herself. The town was pitch blank beneath them, the echoes of horse hooves fading as Graham disappeared towards the town-

Wait.

He was going towards the town! The other rider had turned into the woods at the main turn- where the hell was he going?

She swung the stable doors shut as best she could, before rushing down to the gate. She could barely see anything in the darkness and the cold was starting to turn her blue when she heard a horse scream in the darkness, an echo like a gunshot following.

"Oh screw this," she decided. Something was going on and she was not going to waste her own chance at figuring out what this town was hiding with its crazy traditions and obviously lovesick Sheriff riding off into the wrong direction.

She climbed up over the gate, barely avoiding falling on her face as the gown tangled about her legs. She pulled it up in bunches, pushing herself forward, feet slapping the ground, swearing slightly as she kept almost losing her footing due to the clunky heels, trying desperately to make it towards the woods as fast as she could, already regretting not going back for a jacket.

The wind was picking up, tossing her muttered words back into her throat. She kept jogging along awkwardly, pushing her legs, holding up her skirt with her hands, the cold freezing her ankles, the muscles in her thighs protesting the uneven ground.

She couldn't catch her breath. Her lungs were on fire with the cold wind freezing her throat closed. She stopped, wheezing at the forest's edge, already deciding to just go back and admit defeat when she saw it.

A horse with no rider, pawing the ground, stood just ahead on the hill by the forest.

"Oh well this is just great," she moaned, forcing herself forward towards the rider less horse. "You'll be the only," she wheezed, climbing up the hill in the dark woods was rougher than it had seemed a moment ago. "-the only journalist to ever break a story wearing a ball gown in the middle of the woods, Lacey old girl."

She kept hitting roots and stones, stumbling and falling forward, scrapping her arms up but she finally managed to teeter up to the horse that stood motionless in the darkness.

The saddle and reins were still in place. Lacey eyed them uncertainty before grasping it, when another gunshot rang out across the silent night. The horse pulled towards it, and in desperation, Lacey held him back, almost getting herself kicked for her trouble.

"Not without me, you don't," she told it harshly, looking about in an attempt to find a way to get up on his back.

A nearby stump solved her problem and she clambered unladylike on top of the strange horse, knowing she was going to get herself killed but too focused on following the noises to think it through. How hard can it be, she thought, settling herself in place.

As she grabbed the reins and tried to remember what they said about riding a horse, the strange horse took off, galloping straight into the woods, ignoring her startled protest and her feeble slaps and kicks as he plunged ahead with his reluctant rider.

* * *

**Author's Notes**

**Okay, sorry about the wait on this. This was originally part of the last chapter but exposition is a lot longer than I had planned and well- it got away from me and I kept coming back and adding more so it wasn't as short. Want you to get your money's worth.**

**(What's that? You aren't paying anything? Oh yea...)**

**But hey- who doesn't love a ball? Or a cliffhanger? **

**Thanks sheshe21 for coming and leaving a review! Especially since I have made you antsy and intrigued with merely two chapters. Wait until you get the next few. **

**Also big welcome to RoxyMoron! And thanks to all you wonderful people who say I updated and came back to read. I love welcoming new people to this story but I am always just so happy when people return to see what's happening. Honestly, makes my day!**

**Once again, sorry for any mistakes, I do not have a beta. I got a beta fish but he unfortunately was no help proofing this chapter and I think I may have misunderstood the purpose of said animal…**

**Next chapter, a few new faces and a few more steps out of Lacey's comfort zone. **


	4. Chapter 4

Racing through the night, Lacey could barely hang on for her life, terror locking her fingers tight on the reins of the runaway horse. She found herself being carried through the night, unable to do anything but manage to stay aboard the hell ride, her prayers and shouts falling on deaf equine ears.

The only sounds in the night were the rapid breathing of the galloping horse, the regular ta-dum, ta-dum of the fall and rise of his hooves, the wind whistling madly around them as Jack Frost followed them on their course. Her own heartbeat falling into the racing rhythm of the steed below her, her gasping whimpers muffled in its coarse mane.

Her eyes were squeezed shut, face buried in the neck of the horse as she desperately tried to hold on. The uneven terrain was causing her to bounce and rock in her seat, developing saddle sores while her muscles screamed at her in silent unholy protest.

She had long given up any hope of finding the mysterious rider. Her earlier clumsy attempts to control their course had ended up with the obstinate horse nearly throwing her. At this point, her only goal was focusing on keeping her seat. Old horror stories of people breaking their necks or cracking their head open from horse related falls forefront in her mind. _You're a city girl,_ she thought wildly, squeezing her eyes shut as they approached a fallen tree in their path, _why the hell did you think you could ride some strange horse_?

But she could only remember her determination to mount the horse, to find her mysterious rider, all in some desperate last mind effort to find a clue on the story which had taken over her life with its oddities and dead end leads. Now, her mind was clouded by an overwhelmingly strong survival instinct – the urge to stay alive blocking out all other thought.

As the trees rushed past them, the horse moving effortlessly through the wood, Lacey could only cling to his back, in spite of the pain and terror enveloping her in the darkness.

Her dress was hiked up uncomfortably around her knees, the cold air and unrelenting wind stinging her legs like needles in a hurricane. Hell, she could barely feel her toes anymore since she had lost her heels on their first downhill rush. Her hair was blown out of its elaborate pinnings, curls drunkenly bobbing down her back and her mask long ripped off by some low hanging branch.

The horse leapt again, clearing an old log, determined on his invisible course, screaming fiercely whenever she attempted to tug at the reins or feebly kick his sides. She had been hoping for him to tire out or to find a safe spot to attempt a fall but her an odd desire to stay on the horse always stopped her, the fear of falling, breaking her neck keeping her clinging on for dear life.

Her toes were starting to go completely numb she realized bleakly. She fought to move them but the sharp pain that resulted in this just brought more tears to her wind burned eyes.

Lacey felt the mascara sliding down her cheeks and she rubbed her bare arm against her cheek as best she could in her bent over position, whimpering at the goose bumps and blue tone of her arms rasped across her raw face.

Her legs were on fire, her thighs were rubbed raw on the saddle and she was hiccuping in pain when she finally felt her grip start to loosen. She clutched at the horse tighter, mumbling prayers to whatever god was listening, thinking desperately about her old apartment, the way the light shone through in the late mornings on to the white comforter- the smell of printer ink – everything waiting back home- back where she was Lacey French.

And then with a violent shiver, she felt herself go limp. Slipping backwards off the saddle, she squeezed her eyes shut even more tightly around the tears, preparing for impact, knowing it would be a miracle if she survived a fall at this speed -when to her utter shock, the horse seemed to sense her fall and began to slow.

She reached back out, grasping at the reins in alarm, feeling her legs spasm underneath her and her left foot slip out from the stirrup but just as she toppled sideways, the horse sidestepped, righting her slightly, trying to keep her one his back. She didn't think- she just stretched at, clutching for his mane.

He screamed ruthlessly when her fingers found the locks, tossing his head back in affronted shock. He came to a sudden stop, rearing slightly and she felt herself slide off his haunches, topping head over heels to the frozen forest ground.

The dress broke her fall, the volumes of the skirt cushioning her back, coming up around her face and smothering her but just managing to protect her head from the impact. All the air burst from her lungs and she coughed violently, pulling her arms around herself and trying to bite back the sobs.

The horse stomped around her for a moment, eyes rolling and froth bubbling from his lips. She glanced up, rolling out from under his feet as he reared up again, trying to pin her underneath his giant hooves. She barely managed to roll over a slight indentation in the ground, looking up and finding the horse's bared teeth were pointed fangs, the reins hanging uselessly around his neck- a bit nowhere in sight. With a final unearthly scream, the horse turned and raced off, picking up speed without his rider, heading on the same course as before.

Curled up on the ground, she tucked her frozen legs underneath her, rubbing desperately at her bare feet to restart circulation, tears streaming freely, and burning treks down her wind burnt face.

"The hell," she cried, hiccupping violently. She put her head back down on the ground, still trying to get feeling back in her feet. "The hell kind of horse- Oh Jesus, what the hell were you thinking, you stupid idiotic-"

And then she heard it: a loud neighing and a voice shouting roughly in response, the sounds floating over to her in the still night air.

Lacey forced herself to sit up, gulping in deep breaths, which was excruciating as her throat was on fire. She turned towards the closest gap of trees, seeing a sort of path leading up the closest hill.

_The horse had gone that direction, hadn't it?_ She wondered, standing awkwardly, feeling the sharp bite of the cold ground on her soles. She was shaking uncontrollably, her arms trembling as she wrapped them around her torso.

She managed to stand, a gust of wind encasing her in its bite and causing her to curl her shoulders down, trying to stay warm. She limped towards the nearest gap in the trees, biting her lip and trying to hold back sobs whenever she stepped on a stone or a twig. Staggering onto the trail, she kept her eyes down, trying to see in the darkness but with no moon she was failing miserably.

She thought of a six year old boy alone in the woods, wandering for hours in the winter sunlight, alone and scared and she felt a ruthless urge to laugh when she suddenly stopped feeling bad for the lost child but jealous of his good luck. At least he had shoes and a coat, sun overhead and no demonic horses trying to kill him.

_Just forget about the stupid horse,_ she berated herself, stumbling on her numb toes, _no one is going to have any sympathy for you getting on some rabid horse with no idea what you were doing-_

Just as she felt her feet start to scream back to life in protest at her determined movement, she stepped heavily on a sharp stone, feeling it cut deep into the pad beneath her toes.

Curse words bubbled to her lips and she bit down hard on her lip, bouncing up and down on the cold ground in agony. She managed to stumble over to a log nearby and sat gingerly, thighs tight and stretching uncomfortably as she lowered herself.

She took in a deep breath, pain radiating all over her but none as painful as the sharp agony pulsing upwards from the sole of her foot. Pulling up her dress, noticing it was tattered, stained and well beyond any dry cleaner's help, Lacey peered down at her foot the best she could in the dark. Blood was running freely, a dark gray stone sticking out from the ball of her foot. After a moment of contemplation, she looked up and around her in the darkness before reaching down, holding her breath and pulling.

More curse words peppered the air as Lacey inventively used every major four letter word she could think of with adjectives, nouns and a few choice adverbs thrown in for variety. As the sudden burst of stars in her vision started to fade away, she inhaled a shaky breath, flipping down her dress again over her torn limbs. Her toes were like ice, blood warm for a moment before cooling rapidly in the freezing air. Her legs were scratched from her ride and her thighs were protesting all movement, making her rocking a jerky static motion.

Taking in deep breaths amid her muted gasps of pain, Lacey wanted nothing more than to curl up in the path and wait for someone to rescue her .Surely Graham would notice her missing on his return from his fool's mission to town?

But she knew better. She was barefoot, had no coat and was in all likelihood freezing to death. She recalled hypothermia was supposed to feel like falling asleep. And amidst all the pain and fear, she had the oddest thought that at the moment that might be the best thing.

_But dying in a ball gown in the middle of a forest just doesn't make sense;_ a small voice seemed to whine. She tried to silence it, pulling her arms around her core tighter and burrowing into the folds of her gown, trying to think of them like a comforter.

_Really_, she thought, trying to ignore the pain_, are you just going to give up like this? On your first assignment? You want to be that footnote in the Looking Glass? _Young Woman dies of exposure in the woods dressed as a princess? _You going to go out like that?_

Lacey blinked her eyes open, shivering miserably, and sniffling- her nose running like a faucet in the cold and her shakes becoming uncontrollable. She turned back around the way she had come, they had been galloping for what had to be miles, it had been just after four when Graham rode off and she had-

She looked down at her foot again, noticing her night vision was improving because she could see it more clearly-

She glanced up at the sky, noticing stars starting to fade out. She rolled to her knees, breathing heavily, feeling her ribs ache with the cold air in her lungs when she heard a voice again, an irritated carrying voice but the words were blurred and barely understandable. The tone however was all too familiar

"Emma?" She croaked but the wind whipped it back into her throat and she coughed roughly, shivering. She raised herself up on her knees a little higher, gathering her last bits of strength and choking back a sob, screaming out," EMMA" her voice breaking on the last syllable, causing her to fall back down on her side, crying weakly.

_What are you thinking_, she mentally railed at herself. _Like Emma's out here in the middle of the woods- _

"Who's there?" The wind seemed to reply, the soft syllables teasing the shell of her ear before disappearing entirely. She struggled to sit upright, clutching her arms.

"Emma?" she shouted back, forgetting not to hope. She stumbled to her feet, wincing roughly as her cut and battered feet made contact with the ground again. Hope was giving her the unrealized strength to endure it as she pitched forward,

"Belle!" The voice came back, incredulous. "Is that you?"

"Emma!" Lacey laughed fitfully, pushing forward up the hill, her feet slicing on the rocks and twigs but she managed to clear the hill, collapsing onto her knees in a clear field, the trail disappearing ahead of her towards the center.

But all Lacey could see was the tall blonde standing just ahead of her, staring at her in disbelief.

"You're here!" Lacey laughed manically, tears streaming down her face. "You're actually really here!"

"God, Belle," Emma came running towards her, skidding down on to her knees in front of her and wrapping her in her arms. "What are you doing out here?"

"Looking for - Graham went-"

"I told him to stay out of it, "Emma cursed, turning back to face the field, rubbing Lacey's arms in a circular motion, trying to get circulation back. "Why aren't you at the Inn with everyone else?"

"Worried about you," Lacey lied, burying her head in her friend's chest. Dizzy at the unheard of luck of finding someone, clutching at her for warmth. "Saw you on the horse and-"

"I wasn't on a horse," Emma went to stand, focusing on something Lacey couldn't see but Lacey clutched at her friend, refusing to let her go. Emma shook herself out of the large black jacket she was wearing, wrapping it tightly around her friend.

"Saw you!" Lacey insisted, shaking her head, crying pitifully. The warmth of the coat was almost painful after the hours of cold but she burrowed into it. "Graham went after you but then I heard -"

"Belle, Belle honey," Emma soothed, taking her face in her hands and looking at her, forcing her to concentrate. "It wasn't me. I promise- I'm fine."

"Why are you-," Lacey hiccuped, actually really looking at her friend finally. "Why are you dressed like a pirate?"

Emma shook her head in exasperated incredulity, looking back over her shoulder. "Only you would ask something so pointless-"

Lacey ignored Emma's commentary as she took in her outfit. Emma had forsaken her usual leather red leather jacket and tight jeans for form fitting black leather pants, rough black riding boots going past her knees and a beige cotton blouse, billowing out in the sleeves but fitted in the cuffs, covered with a black vest ties open and dipping down. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a low ponytail and her face was shiny red with the cold, lips chapped unpleasantly and currently pursed in a frown.

"Are you even listening to me?" Emma questioned, arms folded in front of her.

"How long have you been out here?" Lacey answered the question with her another, her journalism background kicking in as queries and concerns starting to build over her fear. "What- what are you even doing out here, Emma?"

"Nosy little thing, isn't she?" Chimed in an unfamiliar voice, surprising Lacey back into silence at the intrusion. Emma tensed before turning and standing abruptly. Lacey blinked over to where the voice came from, casting her eyes about in the darkness for the newcomer.

It was then she noticed the large two columns in the center of the clearing, a large circular wrought iron gate yawning open to the woods beyond. Lacey barely noted the intricate styling of the open gate but she heard Greg faintly in the back of her head, "_I walked around the columns for a bit…never realized I should be scared…"_

Emma was standing in front of her, between her and the pillars. It was starting to lighten, wee hours of the night bleeding into the early hours of the morning, stars vanishing from overhead.

"Regina, you know the laws," Emma was saying, her hand lowering to –

"Is that a sword?" Lacey asked folding over to sit side legged on the ground, leaning on her good foot to try and stand.

"Quiet, Belle," Emma whispered, motioning for her to stay down.

"Yes, do be quiet. You've been making enough racket in these woods all night," the voice replied, tone cruel and biting as the wind. "Help this and help that! Completely distracting for those of us who are trying to get any work done-"

"Leave her out of this, Regina," Emma growled. "Now, you know as well as I do that you have less than a few minutes to get back to the other side before you face the consequences."

"From you?" laughed the voice, and Emma turned sharply just as the form of a woman seemed to materialize from nowhere to their left. Lacey blinked in confusion before realizing her vision must be spotty from the tears. She rubbed at her face furiously trying to clear her vision.

"Staying in this land beyond the Solstice is forbidden," Emma was saying over her but Lacey was too focused on the newcomer. Greg had said his father had been talking to a woman, but this woman barely looked older than her early thirties. Her hair was raven black, pulled back in a high ponytail, braids wrapped around the base. Her skin was milk white, cheeks red in the cold and her lips painted a dark plum purple. She was wearing an all-black outfit just like-

"Graham," Lacey whispered, struggling to her feet.

Emma reached back to hold her behind her but Lacey shook her off, standing beside her friend. "What did you do with Graham?" she yelled, gulping in air, trying to get her breath back to normal. Her voice came out in a petulant feminine whine but she held herself upright, anger starting to warm her.

The woman looked at her, raising a lone eyebrow in reply, taking her in. Lacey felt a shiver, not of cold but of awareness, creep down her spine. The woman was looking through her, almost into her. She shook it off, turning to Emma who kept her gaze locked on the stranger.

"Graham was wearing that exact outfit tonight, down to the lame mask she's wearing as a headband," Lacey rattled off, pointing at the woman. Emma reached over slowly and lowered her arm, tense and alert.

"Is the little fake princess accusing me of something?" Came the response, the voice cutting like glass as Regina eyed her. Lacey ignored her, trying to form the words to inform Emma of her concern.

"Regina," Emma addressed her, stepping more squarely in front of Lacey. "You have no rights here past the sunrise, you should be going."

"Of course, I'm going," Regina replied, smiling like the cat who gotten into the cream. Her teeth were straight, gleaming white but her canines were sharp in her smile and it didn't reach her eyes. "But I had something in town to pick up before I left."

"Graham," Lacey said under her breath, Emma nodded tersely to signify she understood.

"Where is the Sheriff, Regina?" Emma asked, her hand firmly on the hilt that was protruding from her belt.

The woman's smile deepened, and with a lazy hand she waved to her left, towards the gate where a figure face down in the grass seemed to come into focus.

"Graham!" Lacey cried, unsure how she had missed him there when she had been looking at the gate. She raced around Emma, ignoring her friend's cry to wait and slid to her knees, feeling the dress protest and stretch under her as she fell to her colleague's side.

He was cold, dressed in his usual Sheriff uniform, his face devoid of any color but he was still breathing in small shallow puffs of air.

"He's alive," she shouted over her shoulder. He groaned in response, rolling his eyes feebly beneath his eyelids. She heard Emma slowly walking towards them, glancing up to see Emma keeping a careful eye on the stranger who was advancing towards the gate at the same rate as Emma.

"What did you do, Regina?" Emma asked, alarm clouding her voice. Lacey checked Graham's breathing, it was slow but normal. She went to check his heartbeat, putting her head over his chest to make sure he didn't go into some kind of arrest but she paused, confused.

"His breathing's fine," She related to Emma, now standing over them again, facing Regina still. "But his heart beat is really slow. I can barely hear it."

"Oh, you mean this?" Regina asked coyly. Lacey looked up to find her holding a glowing red-

"Is that a heart?" She managed to choke out, eyes locked on the beating apparatus in Regina's clawed grip. The other woman was no longer smiling but smirking, her entire face unperturbed.

"Belle," Emma muttered through clenched teeth. "Do. not. move."

"Now, what is that pesky little law about the Guardian of the Gate?" Regina was asking aloud. The question was obviously rhetorical as Emma made no move to answer. Lacey was focusing on Graham, trying to ignore the beating heart in her peripheral vision. She felt sick, the cold no longer cutting her now that fear and disgust were rolling in her stomach.

"Graham," she whispered. "Get up Graham, please get up."

"Oh you want him to get up?" Regina interrupted. Lacey cast her eyes towards her, the sharp hearing alarming her. "Why didn't you say so?"

And then with a jerking motion, Graham's eyes flew open as he wrenched himself off the ground, nearly toppling Lacey over in his sudden momentum.

Emma whirled to her left, her back to the gate now, grasping Lacey's arm and wrenching her behind her again.

She pulled the sword out, the scabbard ringing as the metals scraped against it. Lacey felt her eyes slide down the gleaming metal blade, down to the ornate bejeweled handle where Emma's small fist was wrapped tightly around the hilt, her other hand balanced to her side. In the twilight, the broad sword seemed to gleam sickly in the heart's unnatural light.

"Emma," Lacey said slowly, eyes fixed on the sword's sharp blade. "I'm going to ask again- why do you have a sword exactly?"

Graham was staring at the two of them, breathing heavily and clutching at his chest.

"Graham," Emma whispered, tears in her eyes. Her voice was shaking, but the sword stayed pointed between Regina and Graham, perfectly still in her grip. "Graham, I'm so sorry."

Graham looked pained, eyes fixed on Emma.

"I thought it was you," he managed, trying to assure Emma of something. Lacey watched, a silent witness, unable to look away from his pained face. "I thought she was you-"

"Regina, please," Emma pleaded, eyes flicking to Regina. "What are you trying to prove here?"

"I'm not trying to prove anything," Regina teased. Stepping closer to the gate, she looked down at the beating heart in her hand. "A guardian must stand to protect the Realm of the Believers against the Fae. Isn't that how it goes, Emma dear?"

Emma didn't reply, her lips drawn tight in a bloodless line. Lacey felt her shaking pick up again, wrapping Emma's black jacket more firmly around her.

"Graham, what's-"Lacey started but Emma silenced her, raising her free hand to stop her. Lacey tried again but Emma cut her off.

"Belle, just shut up for a second!" Emma yelled, causing Regina to laugh in delight.

"This is what you protect!" She chortled, looking past Emma to Lacey. She tried not to hunch her shoulders under the glare, that uncomfortable feeling of power and darkness climbing up her spine again.

"Weaklings and cowards. This one almost got carried off by one of the Kelpies that run loose in these woods, managed to fall off just in time to avoid being drowned in the river bed."

Lacey's knuckles tightened into white knots in her pockets, bile rising in her throat. The flash of fangs and foam rising to her eyes, the sick knowledge that it wasn't really a horse clouded by her fear.

"But you people," Regina was continuing. "You insist on protecting the ignorant natives of this land. So, fine. If I can't have it the way I want it, I'll just make sure it works to my advantage. Say goodbye to your man."

"Regina, no!" Emma screamed, lurching forward. Her sword at the ready, raising it for a clear strike but Regina was already crumbling the beating heart in her grip. Lacey tore her gaze away from the stomach-turning sight at the noise of Graham choking. She whirled towards him as he started to collapse to the ground with writhing limbs.

Lacey was at his side before he fell, catching him and lowering him to the ground. She called his name hoarsely, crying and sniffing, trying to shake him awake but his eyes were wide open, staring lifelessly in the sky.

She could hear Emma screaming, screaming "Coward! COWARD!" and cursing into the night but Regina was gone, and dawn was approaching.

Lacey turned, looking to call her friend to Graham's side, words sticking in her throat when her eyes fell on Regina standing nonchalantly, right past the gates, grinning madly and laughing. Standing over the corpse of her friend, laughing while Emma just stood there…

It was the laughing, Lacey thought later. It was the laughing at killing Graham that made her stumble to her feet, leave him behind and run full speed through the gates. It was all to stop her from laughing.

She felt herself rush past the columns, felt a sucking, whispering sensation like walking through a spider web before she suddenly was close enough to see Regina's eyes- cold and merciless, delighted at the sudden development.

She heard Emma screaming her name, yelling for her to come back but she was so close, so close to silencing the bitch that had just killed her friend- she was close enough to reach out and scratch her eyes out when suddenly Regina was gone.

Lacey's momentum carried her forward, through where Regina had just been standing. She tried to stumble to a stop, but fell forward, falling onto her hands and knees. She stayed there for a moment, tears dripping own her chin, before she pounded the ground in anger, only to feel it shift beneath her.

She was kneeling in sand, she realized numbly. Shifting it idly between her fingers, watching is swirl around her palms. She slowly raised her head, looking for where Regina had run off to - only to realize-

She was no longer in the field.

She was in the mountains, next to a dry lake bed, and she was suddenly warm.

She turned her head round, back towards the gate only to see it swinging shut, Emma rushing towards it, tripping and falling just short as it clanged shut.

"Em-Emma?" She stuttered, stumbling to her feet and rushing back towards the gate, staggering in the gravelly sand she found herself in.

The gate was no longer set in two columns, it was now in a standing rock shelf, the columns jutting out from the rocky wall, still brick but covered in flint and rock dust.

"Belle," Emma whispered, sitting on her haunches, fingers interlacing the curls and swirls of the intricately patterned gate.

Now that it was closed, Lacey could clearly see it as she neared it.

It was a landscape, trees twisting from one side to the other side, where other trees were stretching towards their counterparts, wavering more in the breeze. One had a moon curled low with snowflakes falling around its point and the other had a sun rising over the horizon, birds and flowers blooming underneath it.

It was beautiful, etched and stylized with a master hand, no rough edges or rusting points. The sharp points of the thorns on the rosebud prickled her fingers as she wrapped her fingers around the iron as well, falling down wearily to match where Emma was kneeling. The two women mirror images, their hands inches from touching.

"Emma…" Lacey whimpered, tears welling back in her eyes as panic started to overwhelm her. "What just happened? What- Where am I?"

"Belle," Emma was crying, her usual composed face blotchy and red. She was rubbing her cheeks with her sleeves, caking dirt and leaves into her hair. "Belle, I am so so sorry."

"Is he-"Lacey started, choking back the words, trying to see out of the gate. The field was starting to lighten, sun coming up on that side of the gate and she could see the dark form lying motionless behind Emma. When she felt a shift in the air around her, she turned realizing the sun behind her was beginning to set.

"He's dead," Emma was faltering, licking her lips and swallowing hard. "She knew- she knew if he was dead, I'd have to stay-"

"Emma," Lacey gasped, fighting back the panic, trying to focus on her friend. "Emma, please open the gate. I don't- I don't understand, I'm sorry, I'm trying I just can't-"

"Belle, listen to me," Emma managed, leaning her forehead against the gate. Lacey tried to reach out to take her friend's hands but it felt like a shadow, cool and not quite real. "You have to listen to me-"

"Emma, this is-"

"You're in Fae, Belle," Emma was saying, looking way from her back at the rising sun. "And I can't open the gate- "

"Emma, Emma please," Lacey was mumbling wildly, wiping away the tears that were starting to fall again.

Lacey raised her eyes to the darkening sky, noticing with a hint of horror that at the top of the circle's gate, she could no longer see the familiar dawn of Storybrooke. Instead dusk was falling and the Gate's background was turning to the rock of the shelf behind it.

"Belle, Belle listen to me," Emma was saying and she looked back at her friends, eye wide. "You have to do exactly what I say-"

"Well, for starters, she really should back away from that Gate unless she wants to become a part of it."

At the sudden intrusion, Lacey pressed herself closer to the gate, swinging around just as Emma let out a mirthless laugh.

"Oh, perfect. You would be here!"

"Always glad to be of service," came the eerily high pitched voice, and Lacey found herself kneeling under a small framed man, hooded in a large cape, his entire being shrouded by the dark material.

"Emma," she whispered, twisting her fingers more firmly around the iron curls of the closest tree. "What do I do?"

"I already told you _that_!" The stranger crackled, stepping a bit away, cocking his caped head to the side. "And yet you seem to like the idea of becoming a piece of the scenery. Too bad. Princesses are in short supply these days."

Emma whispered softly, right in her ear, "Belle, do you trust me?"

Lacey bit her lip, keeping an eye on the stranger who was standing completely still, unseen eyes fixed on them.

"If you trust me, you have to go along with I say, okay?" Emma was whispering quickly, a sense of urgency underlining her words. "So, do –you- trust -me?"

"Yes…" Lacey answered slowly, because she did. She had no idea where she was, what had happened to Graham or why any of this was happening but she trusted Emma. Despite everything she didn't know, she trusted the woman who was still with her, even when she was hallucinating wildly.

"You like making deals, Imp," Emma said, standing. Lacey looked up at her, backing up closer to the Gate so it pressed into her spine. "Make a deal with me."

"_Oh_?" the now named Imp asked, giggling. "And what would that be?"

"Your word to protect this woman from all harm for the year of the Moon and to return her to this Gate as the year of the Sun begins."

The cloaked figure laughed riotously, swishing his coat about his knees in merriment.

Lacey couldn't see anything inside the cloak, not clothes or skin, not even the gleam of a tooth or an eye. The idea of facing Regina again seemed a better prospect than trusting her life to him but Emma's confidence silenced her.

"Emma," she interrupted, pulling herself to her feet. She belatedly realized Emma's jacket was dirty and torn, the ball gown ripped and frayed, dirty with grass stains and mud, horse hair clinging to it in random patches. "I don't think going anywhere with this man is a good idea."

"Man!" The cloaked figure yelped in merriment. "My, my, you friend really doesn't know much about our way of doing things, does she?"

"Imp," Emma commanded, and Lacey almost twisted to look at her friend in surprise. Emma's voice was ringing with unquestionable authority now, tears and any trace of fear gone from it. "Do we have a deal?"

"And what do I get in return for this protection?" The Imp asked, sliding closer to the Gate. Lacey faltered off to the side, noticing the dusk shadows edging deeper along the wall. The two were standing still, despite the Gate starting to fade. Emma had moved back and released her grip on the gate.

"You already know what you want or you would have refused the deal," Emma stated imperially, chin thrust out defiantly. "Name your price."

"Well, then," the figure retorted, bouncing on his heels. "I want access to the Realm of the Believers."

"You know I can't-"Emma started but he cut her off with a snarl.

"Do you want me to leave her defenseless here? She has no idea what this land is- she'll be dead before dawn. Now, ask yourself Princess," he whispered leaning in towards the gate. "Do you want to lose another friend this day?"

Emma stared down at him, her jaw tight and eyes sparkling. Her forehead disappeared as the sun started to rise higher, and she ducked down, looking over at Lacey as she spoke.

"As Guardian of the Gate, you have my word. Access to the Realm of the Believers for one year's time but after that-"

"A year's all I need, dearie," he giggled. "And if I don't return her safe and sound, our deal will be void. So, I suppose we will see you in a year, Princess. Do try not to get too much more attached to the natives- why this is positively embarrassing for you. What _would_ your parents say?'

Just then, clouds parted overhead behind Emma and she disappeared entirely, her angry face opening to retort was the last thing Lacey saw before her new guardian turned to her, cloak swirling around his ankles.

"Well, then dearie," he murmured. "We should be going."

He reached one hand out, scaled and glowing in the twilight, green and gold, clawed fingernails like alligator's claws.

Lacey felt the sudden urge to scramble backwards, to run as far as she could from the beast standing before her. But she was frozen, immobile in her terror.

"You don't talk much, do you?" He sniggered, tossing his hood back.

His eyes were large globes of yellow molten pupils like reptiles. His long curly gray hair fell in waves about his shoulders, framing his green scaled face, teeth rotten and sharp like the komodo dragons she had seen at the zoo with their poisonous bite.

He was watching her, she realized suddenly, waiting for her to scream. His golden yellow eyes gleamed sickly in the dusk's fade, challenging her to break. She bit down hard on the impulse, drawing herself straight against the rock shelf, keeping her eyes locked on his face. Unblinking, she entered into the staring contest with the creature before her.

"Lovely," he snapped, irritated at her failure to react. "A fake princess with spirit. Just what I was missing."

And then he snapped his fingers and her world disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

* * *

**Author's Note**

**So, after sticking with Lacey for three chapters- on the fourth one I give you Regina, Fae, and the Imp- be honest was it too much too fast? Everyone still holding on to their socks? **

**But I did take away Graham- I hope too many of you didn't curse me for that but as much as I hated his death, I think it was one of the best oh shit moments OuaT gave us. I wanted to honor that with a good death. **

_**9aza**_**- I have never seen Sleepy Hollow the TV show but I did love getting to invoke that creepy New England feeling of seeing a horsed rider all misty and cloaked. One of those great American legends. I really, really hope you enjoyed this chapter!**

_**YukaTheDemon1 –**_** Hopefully this answered some of your questions! Or maybe hinted more than answered. But now that she is firmly out of her world, we will learn a little more about her world by learning about the world she now finds herself in. **

**And big welcome to Phoebe Holly for joining the party!**

**Once again- no beta. See an error, earn a shout out/ my internal gratitude by PMing me and letting me know. **

**Big thanks to everyone who is reading and following the story! **


	5. Chapter 5

Coughing fitfully amidst all the chalky fumes that had suddenly surrounded her, Lacey raised her hand in an instinctive motion, batting ineffectively as she tried to distill the tendrils of smoke. A short, high pitched giggling caused her to cease, clearing her throat with a guilty humph as she slowly lowered her hand, the smoke clearing around her to reveal her companion.

The Imp was standing exactly where he had been seconds ago, but –

Lacey tilted her head back in surprise, taking a step forward in uncertainty before stopping and turning to face the creature, who was fussing with his hooded cloak and ignoring her. Finding some sort of courage in her rapidly growing indignation, she demanded, "What the hell was that?"

The lake bed and mountains were gone; inexplicably, they were now standing in a large hall of some sort- large gray stones hewn together in jointed jagged lines, rough stones hung with tapestries and weaponry and decorated with what appeared to be heads of other … creatures.

Looking away from the gaping mouth of what looked to be the distant cousin of a buffalo, she raised her eyes to the ceiling. High above her the rafters were lost in shadows. A few chandeliers hung from the depths but they were unlit, iron rusted and dripping with chains. The only light was coming in from the curtained windows that lined the hall.

She turned slowly, taking in the large wooden door, drawbridge style that seemed twice her height and four times her width but it seemed stuck, immobile- probably hadn't been used in years…

Her gaze fell back down, tracing the bare stone walls, rough and uneven but jointed together in a pattern that traced the length of the whole hall. She avoided the other decorations, eyes skipping around her host in a denial of his presence. Her mouth was open, she was horrified to find, snapping it shut quickly as she noted the place had the same odd musky air that she associated with museums.

She finally let her eyes fall where they were being drawn - on him- it- _whatever_.

The thing in question or the Imp as Emma had referred to him was leaning against the wall, his cloak opened in the warmth of the hall, now displaying more of his odd ensemble- all scaled and dyed dark rich colors - but his eyes were locked on her, that self-satisfied grin back on his face. "Is this- place some kind of- castle?" She said in disbelief, feeling overwhelmed by the size of the hall itself.

"How astute of you," he replied, pushing off from the wall and bowing low before her, hair falling in a curtain around his snake like face. "Welcome to my humble home."

She took a shaky step back away from him, feeling a faintness overcoming her and a shaky feeling like her knees were about to buckle from underneath her. She drew in a short, shaky breath, the noise of it echoing along the stone floors and walls, disappearing into the inky shadows at the end of the hall. "How did-"She started but closed her eyes and shook her head fitfully. "No, I don't want to know- "

"Is this the part where you ask if you're dreaming?" He asked, picking himself up from his bow. He had a slight sneer on his face, leaning his head towards her, cocking it to the side to emphasize his point. "Because, you're going to have a bit of a wake-up call sooner or later." He sang out, carefully choosing each word and throwing it at her like a knife.

_This corset is starting to cut off the oxygen to my brain,_ she rationed illogically, raising her hand to her stomach. She kept her face neutral best she could, raising her eyes to look over him, around him, anywhere but at him. Her eyes were focusing to the gloom, finally realizing the hall wasn't as deep as it had previously appeared to be. A large staircase went up, spiraling to a second level which loomed just out of her sight and then a smaller staircase to the right of her seemed to go straight down in the depths of the hall.

"You actually live here?" Lacey questioned sarcasm and disdain coloring her words. The damp and the rot of it was starting to invade her bones, her entire body was sore and aching and her head felt like it had been caught in a vise. The smoke had caused her eyes to water and now they itched fiercely and the damn dress was in tatters around her and goddamn it, she was scared. She was scared horribly and all she wanted to do was cry. "How… _quaint_."

He narrowed his eyes at her, sweeping himself upright. He made sharp, quick movements, she noted, almost reptilian but… deliberate, almost stylized.

"How kind of you to notice," he mocked, twisting his hand in a circular motion before offering it out to her like a courtier. "Shall I give you the grand tour?"

"How about you go to-"

But Lacey never got to finish that sentence; with just a snap of his clawed fingers, she found the purple smoke encircling her once again. She hit at it ineffectively, but instead of dissipating, it grew thicker around her, pressing her down. It seemed to have a will of its own, alive and pulsing and she threw her arm over her head as it surged towards her face, angry and darkening.

She felt the now familiar sickening dizziness, falling down into a kneeling position, eyes clenched shut against the wall of magic, her legs clenching in spasms at her sudden movement and she opened her mouth to cry out but smoke filled her lungs before she could close her lips against it.

But just as suddenly as it had struck, it cleared. She was breathing heavily, shoulders shaking from the chill of the air and the fear that was beating wildly, madly, frantically in her chest.

Blinking, she lowered her arm slowly, chest heaving despite the corset's best efforts to keep it still. "Oh for fuck's sake-"she hissed, slowly rising to her shredded feet, looking around in disbelief. "Enough with the smoke trick!"

She was now in a smaller chamber, same walls but the floor was rougher on her bleeding soles, cold to the touch which was a slight relief from the throbbing warmth that was radiating from her soles upwards. It was colder down here and she wrapped her jacket around her more tightly, seeing small puffs of air emerge from her raw lips into the stillness.

She slowly backed up, eyes taking in the small chamber. It was merely a step or two before her knees hit a rough edge and she found herself falling down into a seat, hard. She was sitting on a stone slab with a ratty burlap fabric folded along the bottom. Two candles were burning next to a large solid wood door with a small oval at the top where bars crisscrossed to form a small grid work. The room was about the size of her first dorm room, low ceiling and heavy walls with no window.

She slowly moved her head over the whole room again. She felt a slight burst of manic laughter escape her before she quenched it down.

She was in a dungeon.

Chains were lying lovingly by the door, open and menacing, patches of rust in certain key areas. She wrenched her gaze from them to the nearest item- a silver platter bowl looking item which she puzzled over for a minute before she recognized it from her old days covering the heath section. She confirmed her fear when she did another look around the room, confirming a toilet was indeed missing from her quarters. She stared back at the thing for a moment. "No," she laughed, shaking her head. "No. No. No. **No**."

"Liking your new room, are we?"

"You-"she seethed, popping up and rushing towards the door where his face had appeared. He watched her approach, and she felt a rush of annoyance as he obviously noted her hobbling gait, eyes twinkling in secret amusement. "You let me out this minute-"

"Promised to keep you safe!" He teased, eyes hard like diamonds, flashing yellow at her in the candlelight. "And you'll be perfectly safe here."

He disappeared from her with another of his sharp, pinched laughs. Her fingers clutched at the iron bars where he had been moments ago. "Wait!" She called, frantically trying to peer out into the hallway. "You can't just leave me like this!"

But it seemed he could, she soon found out. After a few moments of standing in agony on her toes, she gave up. Exhaustion pushed her back to the slab of stone which she assumed was her bed, curling up with Emma's jacket wrapped tight around her. It had the familiar smell of the forest and Emma's perfume, she twisted her nose away from it angrily, irritation and fear mingling with the memories. She managed to contort the burlap blanket into a pillow of sorts, pummeling it ineffectively before giving up and lying back down.

She stared out across the room, curling into a fetal position and trying not to focus the throbbing pain in her left foot where the stone had punctured through the skin or the scratches all over her legs and arms. She twitched her left leg to get comfortable and the pain that shot through her made her whimper miserably into the coat's label.

Cold, afraid and losing herself in the persistent pain, Lacey felt herself slip off into an uneasy sleep, hoping when she woke up she would be back in her bed in the city, back to being Lacey French.

* * *

"Wake up sleepy head!" Crowed a voice just above her left ear. Lacey's eyes shot open, pushing herself backwards from the intrusion and instantly cracking her head on a solid stone wall behind her.

"Christ," she yelped, reaching up to touch the back of her head, peeping one eye open angrily to find the smug little leprechaun who was holding her hostage sitting primly in a wooden chair by her bed. "Do you have a death wish?" She growled, closing her eyes and drawing her feet up to her chest.

"Possibly," he answered with a shoulder wiggle, smiling his horrid grin again. She looked away, down to her bare feet, only to realize-

"My feet are-"

"Healed, yes." He splayed his hands out before him, palms up in a mockery of supplication. "I noticed blood on my floors." He waggled a finger in disappointment. "I'm sure you didn't mean to bleed all over the place, that's rude you know."

She kept her eyes on him now, silent and unresponsive. Her brain was whirling as Lacey tried to use common sense to apply to this situation. It failed her and she was left sitting, staring back at a scaled mythical magical beast in a torn ball gown and a full bladder.

He was watching her. Despite his teasing, he was waiting for her to react. _Well, I've never been very good at giving people what they wanted_, she thought hazily, locking eyes with him. _Why start now?_

"How thoughtless of me" she said robotically, trying not to grab her foot and rub it thankfully. Her feet were cold sure but all the painful mementos from her night run through the woods was gone. She knew if she checked her arms and legs they too would be healed and the saddle soreness had receded as well. She readjusted slightly on the hard surface of the bed, his eyes narrowing slightly at her movement before she met his gaze with a sarcastic grin, "Being injured and scared when you're being such an attentive jailer."

He didn't say anything in return, just gave another small giggle before standing abruptly. "As lovely as this has been," he snipped, striding back towards the open door. "I have things to do, people to kill, monsters to unleash."

And he slammed the door shut just as she scooted towards the edge of the bench, placing her feet on the cold ground.

"Wait!" She cried, almost tripping over her skirts to get to the door, but he was already gone.

"Damnit." She turned back to the room, dimly noting the candles were still burning at the same height as the night before. She watched them wavering in the air for a moment before making her way back to the bed, plopping down on it, her face falling into her hands.

She had no earthly idea what to do, she realized stricken. She was in some kind of story tale nightmare, trapped in a monster's dungeon. Tears blurred her vision again but she rubbed her eyes roughly, pushing them back.

She leaned back, lying back down on the hard stone cot, staring up into the ceiling. For a moment, she traced patterns in the stonework, trying to calm her breathing, pulling up some old yoga breathing practices from her college years.

When she felt her heart rate start to level out, she began to think more clearly. She was under the protection of a –_ well he laughed at being called a man,_ she remembered. So, she was under the protection of a beast with magical abilities and an alarming penchant for giggling.

The call of nature intensified, and the slight dryness in her mouth accentuated the fact she had been drinking champagne the night before her current situation. She assumed the adrenaline in her system had prevented a hangover; either that or the magical healing of her "host" had taken care of it. She was begrudgingly grateful as she doubted they had coffee in this world. She turned her head to the side, matted hair spilling out around her head as she stared balefully at the chamber pot.

_Nope_, she said, turning her back on it, curling back up on her side. _Not going to happen._

* * *

Not even an hour later, Lacey had the unique experience of trying to pee in a ball gown into a chamber pot. There was a lot of cursing, some unintentional spillage and a really embarrassing moment where she thought she heard the Imp behind her.

Turning her nose up at what the knowledge of what the room was going to smell like here in a minute, she almost sat down on a plate of food that had appeared on her bed in the interim she had been up. A silver goblet sat next to the breakfast offering, clear water gleaming at her in the reflection of the candles.

For a moment, she wavered between the sudden hunger in her gut and the odd fear of the Imp and his moods. For all she knew, she could eat the food and sleep for the whole year- _actually, _she thought with a sick twist of her mouth, _that doesn't sound so bad to the alternative. _

Seating herself back on her bed and now table, she ate quickly. The bread was soft and warm, delicious with a sweet berry jam to dip it in and a hardboiled egg finished the meal but she was forced to use her fingers as there had been no utensils.

Finishing the last bite of the bread, she swirled her finger in the jam and bread crumbles, licking her finger before putting down the plate. As she took another sip of the cold water from the goblet, she absently wiped her fingers on the edge of Emma's coat, offering a quick apology in her head even though it was obvious the coat was long past ruined at this point.

Shifting to find a more comfortable position on the stone, she winced as her corset bit into her stomach. She feebly reached behind her to try and undo the lacing of the gown but her muscles protested the stretch and she gave up with a grumble. Now properly fed and awake, Lacey could only whimsically think on pajama pants and sweatshirts as she lay down, trying to get comfortable.

Just as she flipped on to her other side, carefully lowering the goblet to the floor beneath her, she felt a hard circular object press sharply into her lower thigh. She winced as she sat back up, fishing in the many pockets of Emma's odd coat to find the offending item before drawing out a –

A tiara.

Golden and delicate, it held a few shining rubies in its branched tendrils but overall, it was very simple. She turned it over a few times in her hands, the weight of the gold and stones as well as the feel and shine all adding up to the obvious conclusion of it being a very real and very expensive piece of jewelry to be carrying in one's pocket.

Frowning at it, Lacey sat upright a little more and held it up to the candles burning in the wall socket over the stone slab. It glinted at her in a wink of light, the dark rubies swallowing up the light in one facet before shining merrily in the next. She turned it over a few times in her hands, puzzling over why Emma had been carrying an actual crown in her coat pocket when she had been dressed like a pirate-

_Wait_- her memory nagged at her. _Something about the Imp calling Emma… princess? What if he wasn't being ironic what if-_

"**Hey**!" Lacey shouted out into the silence of her quarters. "**Hey you**!" The shouting brought on a sudden fit of coughing and she stopped for a moment to catch her breath, covering her mouth with her hand as she tried to get control of her breathing back.

Unsurprisingly yet infuriatingly, there was not a response. This left Lacey shifting back into to a sitting position, bare feet touching the floor. Moments passed as she strained to hear any kind of shuffle or footstep, just in case but silence echoed down on her ears and she was left sitting and staring at the door.

Gathering in another deep breath, she screeched, "**Hello?! Anyone home?"** Silence was her only response. She rubbed her hands together, squaring her spine and licking her lips. _Ignoring me then? Fine. Ignore __**this**__._

She spent the next couple of days, screaming, talking out loud, even banging the (thankfully self-emptying) chamber pot against the iron on the door for a solid bit until her arms got too tired. But nothing.

Everyday food was delivered three times a day. The plate disappeared when she turned her back on it but the goblet stayed full of water, no matter how much she drank.

(It was a rough afternoon the day she kept drinking it, trying to find the bottom… she and the chamber pot had been rather chummy that day.)

It wasn't until almost a week after her arrival at Casa de Crazy when she was hoarsely croaking the theme song from _Titanic_ when a loud snarl interrupted her.

"What is it that you think you are doing!" He raged, throwing open the door and striding in. She stopped, sitting up quickly to face him, fingers tightening around the tiara in her pocket, ignoring the painful, raw scratching at the back of her throat. "Five days of this incessant NOISE."

"Six days, but who's counting?" She shot back, standing. She hitched the falling sleeve of her gown back onto her arm, the lacing having come undone a few days ago and now only held on her grip. He, on the other hand, was in a more casual outfit than his previous visit. He had on a simple white over shirt, neck strings untied and showing his golden skin stretched tight over his collar bones with dark black breeches which showed him to be a more slender build than she had previously realized. She grinned at this discovery, catching his eye in her sudden amusement. His face was pointed in anger and at her grin it twisted into a snarling grimace, teeth black and pointed as he bared them at her. She found herself daring him, "You can't just leave me down here for a year!"

"I can do what I like, dearie," he ground out. "Or haven't you figured that out yet?"

"I'm going insane stuck down here!" She found herself whining, sounding like a petulant toddler throwing a temper tantrum. She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth before she screamed in frustration, chewing on it fitfully. She released a slow breath before meeting his eye again and stating calmly, "I'm bored. Can't I-"

Her jailor barked a laugh at her, but it was deep and growling not like his usual infantile giggles. "How you can be bored with the amount of noise you are making is beyond my understanding," he snapped. "Now be quiet or I'll make you."

"You wouldn't-"She started but he grinned wickedly, flicking his hand outwards toward her. She found herself mouthing the rest of that sentence, silence falling from her lips. She frowned, trying again, reaching up to her throat to massage the muscles there. He was grinning gleefully now, eyes crinkling in nasty delight.

"Oh, wouldn't I?"

Outrage, Lacey balled her hands into fists, before picking up the goblet beside her and throwing it at him. He disappeared in a cloud of that noxious purple smoke, his laughter ringing behind him as the goblet sailed through the air and broke in half against the far wall, water trickling out of it like a leaky hose.

She stood there, proud and tall for another moment before she broke into tears, silent angry sobs wracking her body as she curled up on her side, pulling Emma's borrowed coat even more tightly around her. It no longer smelled of Storybrooke and winter or Emma's shampoo, now it smelled of the various foods she had spilled on it, stale body odor and sweat.

* * *

Another five days passed in forced silence. A new goblet arrived with the next meal, a heavier tankard this time with stylized coat of arms on the front which she traced with her fingers. She tried to talk to herself for the first few days but after a while gave up. She told herself stories in her head, wrote articles in her mind, tried mediation and slept as much as she could to push back the growing fear that she was dead or worse insane, trapped in her own mind while her body lay out in the elements of the Maine wilderness. Anything but this.

For exercise, she roamed the four corners of her small room, occasionally banging things when she got frustrated at her muteness but she stopped this behavior when she couldn't find her chamber pot one morning. It appeared back later that day but she too nervous to try bang it against anything again for fear of it being taken away for good. She found if she moved too much she would stat coughing again, the silent ones were even worse than the noisy ones from before and she stopped getting up from the slab, tracing patterns in the ceiling and eating when it appeared.

Old Stockholm syndrome stories and symptoms popped up in her mind's ramblings occasionally, and she promised herself if the Imp ever returned her voice, she wouldn't thank him for it.

Her cough worsened.

Her ribs ached with it, a deep racking cough that twisted her insides and made her throat burn. But still-it was silent.

On the sixth morning of her muteness, she found herself startled awake, coughing and retching loudly, sucking in large gasps of air, laughing hoarsely when she realized she could hear it. Her voice was back.

"You _absolute_-" She began to shout, crowing hoarsely but another coughing fit interrupted her and she was too busy trying to avoid coughing up her lungs to finish the sentence.

"One would think you may have learned your lesson," Came the familiar voice from just outside the room. "But that would be hoping too much I see."

"Never was a quick learner," Lacey muttered savagely, ignoring him. She heard the door swing open and she opened a blearily eye at him. "Don't wait for an invitation." She grumbled, starting to sit up.

"You're ill," he muttered distastefully, dragging his chair to sit by her bed, peering at her from under his brow.

"Apparently," she mumbled, wiping the dampness from her forehead. "Might have been the hours in the freezing cold the other night or maybe from the dampness down here- can't pick my favorite option so-"

He wordlessly waved a hand with a quick flick of his wrist, and a bottle appeared- green liquid glowing in it, bubbles popping in the depths.

"Drink this," he said, handing it out to her. She stared for a moment, jaw tight. But another coughing fit bent her in two and when she came up for air, he was still there, waiting. "Goodness," he complained. "If I had known how hard it would be to keep one of you folks alive I would have just told her royal high and mighty to forget it. If I had wanted to kill you, you'd be dead by now, so stop glaring at me and drink the blessed thing."

After a moment of silent mediation, she wordlessly swiped it from his grasp, glaring at him for good measure before she downed it. Her throat instantly felt better, her stomach unclenching from its spasms and her airways clearing. She released a sigh, feeling a small bit of drowsy comfort overtaking her. She capped the bottle and handed it back to him, refusing to look him in the eye.

He nodded, pocketing the vial again. He sat there, still as a statue but his frame radiated a kind of energy that made her feel uncomfortable so close to him. He was in his usual leather outfit today, a darker green than usual with shoulder pads with spikes on the arms and shoulders. It should have looked ridiculous but instead it looked formidable, threatening.

She slowly raised her hand over her mouth, aware of her rank breath and disgusting teeth in the face of his own, shielding it with her palm before asking, "Why do you call her that?"

He squinted at her, obvious confusion on his features.

"Emma, I mean," she clarified, holding her hand carefully in place as she scooted back from him to lean against the wall. She drew her feet underneath her tattered skirt, the chill of the room deepening with his presence.

"Whatever are you doing?" He inquired, eyes on her hand.

She swallowed, rasping her tongue over her coated teeth. "I asked you first," she pointed out, but it lacked a certain authority with her hand hovering waveringly over her lips. She frowned at him, lowering it slightly to wait for his response.

He merely raised an eyebrow and she moved it back up to admit, "I haven't brushed my teeth in over a week- my mouth tastes like garbage and my breath could stun an elephant."

"What in the world is an elephant?" The Imp asked, face twisted in annoyance.

"It's an animal," Lacey replied. "You don't have elephants here?"

"We must certainly do not. Now, stop it, you look ridiculous," He grumbled, eyes flickering away from her back to the door.

She didn't lower her hand, just plucked uncomfortably at the folds of her dress. Sure it was foolish, she knew that but all the same- she smelled horrible, her hair was an oil slick on her scalp and she knew she had a few red spots on her chin from not being able to wash her face with anything other than goblet water the past few days. To sum it up, she was miserable but she was not going to give him any further ammunition. So she sat stubbornly with her mouth wedged tightly shut and her hand propped against her chin in defiance.

"Have it your way, worried about your vanity more than dying of consumption," he snarled, standing and striding out of the room, clicking his fingers behind him before disappearing in purple smoke. She lowered her hand, wiping it roughly on her shredded ball gown when she saw it.

A table had appeared just to the left of the bed. A pitcher of water now stood by the goblet along with a few twig like apparatuses which smelled strongly like mint. Lacey picked one up, sniffed at it before gently touching it to her lips.

When nothing happened, she sucked it into her mouth, chewed it a bit and felt the burst of minty freshness against her tongue. She happily continued to chew on it, glancing at the cloth that was lying neatly beside the pitcher and the large cotton towel that was under it.

_Not a bath,_ she understood, _but a huge improvement._ She eagerly shed her jacket, wrestled unsuccessfully for a bit for the lacing in the back of her dress before with a final wrench of her shoulders, she managed to grab the final knot and pull it down off her hips.

She nearly wept with the feeling of the dress falling off her. She threw a worried glance at the bars on the door but no one was staring at her through the bars. She picked up the pitcher, pouring the entire thing over her head in one big rush and then letting out a happy squeak when she realized it like the goblet had an endless water supply spell cast on it. She let the pitcher serve as a type of shower, laughing despite herself as the room temperature water splashed about her feet before disappearing mysteriously from the dry stones.

Afterwards, she was wrapped in her towel, scrubbing at the stains on her dress with the small cloth when dinner appeared. She abandoned her new project to eat the sandwich and fruit that was laid out for her when she realized she wasn't as cold as usual.

She frowned, looking around the room. It was definitely warmer than it had been before her cleaning. The fruit felt cool in her hand and she popped the berries into her mouth, grateful that this land had the same kind of fruit as they did at least. _Perhaps there's hope for coffee after all_-she thought happily, chewing eagerly on a strawberry.

After she finished eating, her hair was still wet but with no alternative than to redress herself in her soiled gown, she kept her towel on, humming a few bars from an old show tune and turned back to scrubbing her gown-

But it was gone.

"**Hey**!" She yelled, affronted at the new turn towards perversion. "I need something to wear!"

When nothing happened, she gave a heavy sigh before squeezing her eyes shut, counting to ten to calm down before re-opening them to find a pleasant surprise.

Laying across what she know referred to as "his" chair was a cotton sky blue dress, a white blouse folded over it and nude stockings lay neatly on the seat itself with black flats tucked daintily beneath it. She threw a look at the door, before walking slowly over to hold up the white blouse to the candle light.

It was delicate- thick material but with lace patterning along the bodice and shoulders; scallop necked with a collar and soft sheen buttons going down it. She slid it on, lamenting she hadn't worn a bra to the Gala. She hadn't missed it with the tight corset and pinning of her gown but in a loose collared shirt, her nipples pebbled against the fabric.

Her underwear she had wadded up after the second day and she realized it had probably disappeared too and she simply hadn't realized it. No undergarments were laid out, so she pulled the stockings up, fastening them awkwardly while fiddling with the stays and laces on them before she finally slipped on the warm blue dress.

It had russet piping on the pockets, tucked neatly at her waist. She reached a hand into the pocket as she slipped her new flats on, marveling at how they were all the right size, trying not to ponder how he had known. _Magic probably,_ she was musing when her hand suddenly encountered the smooth silk feeling of a ribbon. She smiled despite herself, pulling her wet hair off her back, curling it into a bun and sighing in contentment as she fastened the matching blue ribbon to hold the curls in place.

She scooted back over to the bed, reaching under the burlap to check and make sure Emma's tiara was still tucked away. She was glad she had the forethought to hide it under the burlap pillow a few days ago, now that the jacket and the dress had vanished to who knows where. She was comforted by it as odd as that seemed to her now, but it was something of Emma's, of Storybrooke, of real life.

She curled her legs up underneath her, drawing the burlap under her head, placing the tiara in her new pocket, humming an old ballad off key to herself.

She was not going to say thank you.

* * *

Over the next few days, a nightgown, a new day dress, a robe and a blanket appeared. Her supply of breath mints never ran low and her new shower system worked much better with a towel for her body and one she could wrap her long hair in afterwards. Her clothes would disappear when she stripped them off but reappeared the next day when she finished showering.

Her food continued to appear on time and she woke one morning to find a pillow tucked under her head like it had been there the whole time. She smiled dizzily into the feather down pillow, nuzzling deeply into it and sighing delightedly before she caught herself. She cleared her face, coughed brusquely and hit it with the palm of her hand a few times before going back to sleep, her aching neck finally relaxing.

She didn't say thank you.

* * *

On what she assumed to be the third week of her stay and with boredom driving her up a wall, Lacey couldn't fall asleep no matter what she tried. She whapped her pillow hard in frustration, grumbled darkly and then hit it again for good measure.

"Whatever did that pillow do to you?" Sang a voice from the doorway, just as it swung open. She groaned, clutching the pillow to her and sitting upright in a panic.

"Don't take the pillow away because I hit it," She found herself saying in a rush, clutching it tighter to her chest. Her nightgown was thick cotton with what felt like fleece lining but she wasn't wearing a bra and she didn't want him to see that. "I hit things I like, ask anyone!"

"As true as I'm sure that is," he replied, glancing around. "You have barely eaten anything in two days. Explain."

"I'm not hungry," she retorted, keeping his gaze.

"You're lying," he answered. He looked at her and she clutched her pillow tighter, a weird feeling he could see through it overtaking her.

"I'm not going to take the infernal pillow." He waved his arms in frustration. He was wearing the brown cloak again, his crocodile boots caked in mud and his face travel worn. "So stop clutching at it like it's your firstborn!"

"You've been away?" She interjected suddenly, piecing together the clues on him, fingers tightening on the pillowcase.

He didn't respond at first but then he gave a short nod. She frowned at him as she bent toward him, "You left me alone? Locked up?" Self-righteous anger rose in her, the pillow falling between them as she railed, "What if something had happened to you? What would happen to me if-"

"While your concern for me is touching," he interrupted, and she felt her mouth snap shut, a warm flush rising in her face. "I assure you- nothing can or will happen to me and in the very, very unlikelihood of that ever happening, you would find yourself free."

"Oh," she responded, toying with the lace on the hem of her nightgown. "Well, that's all right then." _After all, when someone kept you captive_, she thought, _it should matter to you what happens to them. She wasn't being heartless_, she told herself, glancing away from the golden glint of his stare. _Just practical._

"The question of where you would go in such a case- is one I'm sure you haven't bothered to think though." She looked up at him, startled to see he knew exactly what she was thinking about- that if he was gone; she would be free to get out of this horrid dungeon.

He was beaming now, watching her discomfort spread before him, "Can I-"She started but she bit her lip, trying to figure out how to word her request without him responding with a hasty dismissal.

"Spit it out," he commanded, the maniacal grin back on his features.

_He looks odd with it_, she realized. _Not scary or threatening, but wrong and twisted. Everything in this world is like that,_ she thought, scooting closer to him. _Twisted._

His eyes widened slightly at her approach, scanning her quickly, nose flaring in unease. _Day is night, and night is day, up is down and down is up, _she thought as she got the closest she had been to him yet. Their faces were about a foot apart and she swallowed hard, fingers wrapped tightly in her hemline.

"Is there something I can do? Around the castle maybe? Anything? Anything at all- God, there has to be something-I'm going stir crazy down here!"

He blinked, slowly. She had the odd feeling he hadn't thought that was what she was going to ask, he had probably been preparing her for to beg for her life or freedom. Lacey bit the inside of her cheek at the idea of surprising him, eyes glassy with determination.

"Emma asked me to trust her and I did. And she seemed to think you protecting me was the only viable option, so I'm going to trust her. Not you, but Emma. And I know I'm not going to get any answers from you on why Emma knows you or where I am exactly but-"

"Why," he interrupted, a flash of a smile spreading across his mouth. "If you wanted to know where you were, all you had to do was ask, dearie. You're in Fae, more specifically The Dark Castle in the Ninth Kingdom. How's that?"

She looked at him puzzled, before blurting, "I'm where now?"

Silence was thick between them for a moment before he leaned closer, his voice high pitched and eerie once more. "You're in the land of faeries and dragons, kings and queens, goblins and witches-"he whispered, watching her blue eyes widen. _He's enjoying this_, she numbly thought, trying to breathe normally. "And your dear friend, Emma- why she's a Princess of the Seventh Kingdom. Or didn't you realize that when you found her tiara in your pocket?"

He was giggling again, clapping his hands excitedly as Lacey sat uncomprehending, trying in vain to find her balance in a world that seemed permanently upside down.

* * *

**Author's Note**

**Big welcome to booklover7161 and Rutoh-Chan! I'll tell you all a secret- I save the little emails telling me someone followed, favorited or reviewed The Gate in my inbox until I post the next chapter- a little reminder and a bit of an encouragement. So thanks to you all for that great big smile I get whenever someone takes the time to read this!**

**Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thanks for reading! Again, see an error- let me know- working without a beta!**

**-B**


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